THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

AND 

NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 


BY 

ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX 


CHICAGO  : 

W.  B.  CONKEY  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1909, 

BY 
ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX 


P5 

5512. 

P755 


PREFACE 


LOVE'S  LANGUAGE 

When  silence  flees  before  the  voice  of  Love, 
Of  what  expression  does  that  god  approve? 
Is  dulcet  song  or  flowing  verse  his  choice, 
Or  stately  prose,  made  regal  by  his  voice  ? 
Speaks  Love  in  couplets,  or  in  epics  grand  ? 
And  is  love  humble,  or  does  he  command  ? 

There  is  no  language  that  Love  does  not  speak 

To-day  commanding  and  to-morrow  meek, 

One  hour  laconic  and  the  next  verbose, 

With  hope  triumphant  and  with  doubt  morose, 

His  varying  moods  all  forms  of  speech  employ. 

To  give  expression  to  his  painful  joy, 

To  voice  the  phases  of  his  joyful  pain, 

He  rings  the  changes  on  the  poet's  strain. 

Yet  not  in  epic,  epigram  or  verse 

Can  Love  the  passion  of  his  heart  rehearse. 

All  speech,  all  language,  is  inadequate, 

There  are  no  words  with  Love  commensurate. 


1927563 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Preface    

Five  Kisses   7 

The  Land  Between  10 

Aristarchus    11 

Love's  Mirage  13 

The  Need  of  the  World 14 

The  Gulf  Stream   16 

Forbidden  Speech 17 

The  Ghost   18 

Reincarnation    20 

A  Man's  Last  Love 22 

A  Holiday   23 

Love's  Ways   25 

Words  and  Thoughts  26 

Remembered    27 

Helen  of  Troy   28 

Lais  When  Young   29 

Lais  When  Old   30 

At  Bay    31 

Holiday  Songs   32 

How  Will  It  Be 34 

Astrolabius    35 

Competition    37 

Sleep's  Treachery   39 

Art  Versus  Cupid  40 

The  Revolt  of  Vashti 46 

The  Choosing  of  Esther 49 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Honeymoon  Scene   53 

The  Cost   58 

Retrospection    60 

The  House  of  Life 61 

The  Voice   63 

God's  Answer   65 

The  Edict  of  the  Sex 66 

The  World  Child   68 

The  Goal  69 

On  Seeing  the  House  of  Julia  at  Herculaneum 70 

A  Prayer    71 

What  is  Right  Living 72 

Justice    73 

Time's  Gaze  74 

The    Two    Ages 75 

Love,  Time  and  Will 77 

The  Worker  and  the  Work 78 

Art  Thou  Alive  80 

Today    81 

The  Ladder   82 

Who  Is  a  Christian 83 

The  Goal  84 

The  Spur  86 

Awakened    87 

Shadows    80 

The  New  Commandment   90 

Summer  Dreams    91 

The  Breaking  of  Chains 92 

December    94 

The  Way   95 

The  Leader  To  Be 96 

The  Greater  Love  98 

Thank  God  for  Life 99 

The  Law  . .                                                                               , .  100 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Time  Enough   102 

New  Year's  Day  103 

Life  Is  a  Privilege 104 

In  an  Old  Art  Gallery 106 

True  Brotherhood   106 

The  Decadent   107 

Lord,  Speak  Again 108 

My  Heaven    110 

Life    Ill 

God's  Kin    112 

Conquest    113 

The  Statue   114 

Sirius   115 

At  Fontainebleau    117 

The  Masquerade   118 

Sympathy    119 

Intermediary    120 

Life's  Car   121 

Opportunity    122 

The  Age  of  Motored  Things 123 

New  Year   124 

Disarmament    125 

Existence    126 

The   Heights    127 

The  Hymn  of  the  Republic 129 

The  Radiant  Christ  131 

The  Call  133 

A  Little  Song  134 

The  Birth  of  Jealousy 135 

Summer's  Farewell  ..137 


POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


FIVE  KISSES 

I 
THE;  MOTHER'S  KISS 

Love  breathed  a  secret  to  her  listening  heart, 

And  said,  "Be  silent."    Though  she  guarded  it, 
And  dwelt  as  one  within  a  world  apart, 

Yet  sun  and  star  seemed  by  that  secret  lit ; 
And  where  she  passed,  each  whispering  wind  ablow, 

And  every  little  blossom  in  the  sod, 
Called  joyously  to  her,  "We  know,  we  know, 

For  are  we  not  the  intimates  of  God  ?" 
Life  grew  so  radiant  and  so  opulent, 

That  when  her  fragile  body  and  her  brain 
By  mortal  throes  of  agony  were  rent, 

She  felt  a  curious  rapture  in  her  pain. 
Then  after  anguish  came  the  supreme  bliss — 
They  brought  the  little  baby  for  her  kiss. 

II 

THE  BETROTHAL 

There  was  a  quiet  pause  between  the  dances ; 

Without,  somewhere,  a  tinkling  fountain  played. 
The  dusky  path  was  lit  by  ardent  glances 

As  forth  they  fared,  a  lover  and  a  maid. 

7 


8  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

He  chose  a  nook  from  curious  eyes  well  hidden, 

All  redolent  with  sweet  midsummer  charm, 
And  by  the  great  primeval  instinct  bidden, 

He  drew  her  in  the  shelter  of  his  arm. 
The  words,  that  long  deep  in  his  heart  had  trembled, 

Found  sudden  utterance,  and  made  love's  demand. 
By  feigned  denials,  she  at  first  dissembled, 

Refused  her  lips  and  half  withdrew  her  hand. 
Then  murmured  "Yes,"  and  yielded,  woman  fashion, 
Her  virgin  mouth  to  Young  Love's  kiss  of  passion. 

Ill 

THE    BRIDAL    KISS 

As  fleecy  clouds  trail  back  across  the  skies 

Showing  the  sweet  young  moon  in  azure  space, 
The  lifted  veil  revealed  her  shining  face — 

A  sudden  wonder,  to  his  eager  eyes. 

In  that  familiar  beauty  lurked  surprise, 

For  now  the  wife  stood  in  the  maiden's  place, 
With  conscious  dignity,  and  woman's  grace, 

And  love's  large  pride,  grown  trebly  fair  and  wise. 

The  world  receded,  leaving  them  alone. 

The  universe  was  theirs,  from  sphere  to  sphere ; 
And  life  assumed  new  meaning  and  new  worth. 

Love  held  no  privilege  they  did  not  own, 

And  when  they  kissed  each  other  without  fear, 
They  understood  why  God  had  made  the  earth. 

IV 

DOMESTIC  BUSS 

Sequestered  in  their  calm  domestic  bower, 
They  sat  together — he  in  manhood's  prime 


FIVE   KISSES 

And  she  a  matron  in  her  fullest  flower. 

The  mantel  clock  gave  forth  a  warning  chime. 
She  put  her  work  aside ;  his  bright  cigar 

Grew  pale  and  crumbled  in  an  ashen  heap. 
The  lights  went  out,  save  one  remaining  star 

That  watched  beside  the  children  in  their  sleep. 
She  hummed  a  little  song,  and  nestled  near 

As,  side  by  side,  they  went  to  their  repose. 
His  arm  about  her  waist,  he  whispered  "Dear !" 

And  pressed  his  lips  upon  her  mouth's  full  rose. 
The  sacred  sweetness  of  their  wedded  life 
Breathed  in  that  kiss  of  husband  and  of  wife. 

V 

OLD   AGD 

The  young  see  heaven ;  but  to  the  old  who  wait 
The  final  call,  the  hills  of  youth  arise 
More  beautiful  than  shores  of  Paradise. 

Beside  a  glowing  and  voracious  grate 

A  dozing  couple  dream  of  Yesterday ; 
The  islands  of  a  vanquished  Past  appear, 
Bringing  forgotten  names  and  faces  near ; 

While  lost  in  mist,  the  Present  fades  away. 

The  fragment  winds  of  tender  memories  blow 
Across  the  gardens  of  the  Used-to-be ; 
They  smile  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  see 

The  bride  and  bridegroom  of  the  long  ago. 

And  tremulous  lips,  pressed  close  to  faded  cheek, 

Love's  silent  tale  of  deathless  passion  speak. 


10  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  LAND  BETWEEN 

Between  the  little  Here  and  larger  Yonder, 
There  is  a  realm  (or  so  one  day  I  read) 

Where  faithful  spirits  love-enchained  may  wander, 
Till  some  remembering  soul  from  earth  has  fled. 

Then,  reunited,  they  go  forth  afar, 

From  sphere  to  sphere,  where  wondrous  angels  are. 

Not  many  spirits  in  that  realm  are  waiting ; 

Not  many  pause  upon  its  shores  to  rest ; 
For  only  love,  intense  and  unabating, 

Can  hold  them  from  the  longer,  higher  quest. 
And  after  grief  has  wept  itself  to  sleep, 
Few  hearts  on  earth  their  vital  memories  keep. 

Should  I  pass  on,  across  the  mystic  border. 
Let  thy  love  link  me  to  that  pallid  land ; 

I  would  not  seek  the  heavens  of  finer  order 
Until  thy  barque  had  left  this  coarser  strand. 

How  desolate  such  journeyings  would  be, 

Though  straight  to  Him,  were  they  not  shared  by  thee. 

Wert  thou  first  called  (dear  God,  how  could  I  bear  it?) 
I  should  enchain  thee  with  my  love,  I  know. 

Not  great  enough  am  I  to  free  thy  spirit 
From  all  these  tender  ties,  and  bid  thee  go. 

Nor  would  a  soul,  unselfish  as  thine  own, 

Forget  so  soon,  and  speed  to  heaven  alone. 


ARISTARCHUS  11 

On  earth  we  find  no  joy  in  ways  diverging ; 

How  could  we  find  it  in  the  worlds  unseen  ? 
I  know  old  memories  from  my  bosom  surging, 

Would  keep  thee  waiting  in  that  Land  Between, 
Until  together,  side  by  side,  we  trod 
A  path  of  stars,  in  our  great  search  for  God. 


ARISTARCHUS 
(THE  MOUNTAIN  IN  THE  MOON) 

It  was  long  and  long  ago  our  love  began ; 

It  is  something  all  unmeasured  by  Time's  span. 
In  an  era  and  a  spot 
By  the  modern  world  forgot, 

We  were  lovers  ere  God  named  us  maid  and  man. 

Like  the  memory  of  music  made  by  streams 
All  the  beauty  of  that  other  love-life  seems. 
But  I  always  thought  it  so, 
And  at  last  I  know,  I  know — 
We  were  lovers  in  the  Land  of  Silver  Dreams ! 

When  the  moon  was  at  the  full  I  found  the  place : 
Out,  and  out,  across  the  seas  of  shining  space, 
On  a  quest  that  could  not  fail, 
I  unfurled  my  Memory  sail, 
And  cast  anchor  in  the  Bay  of  Love's  First  Grace ! 

At  the  foot  of  Aristarchus  lies  this  bay. 

(Oh,  the  wonder  of  that  mountain  far  away!) 
And  the  Land  of  Silver  Dreams 
All  about  it  shines  and  gleams, 

Where  we  loved,  before  God  fashioned  night  or  day. 


12  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

We  were  souls  in  eery  bodies,  made  of  light ; 

We  were  winged,  and  we  could  speed  from  height  to 
height; 

And  we  built  a  nest  called  Hope 
On  the  sheer  moon  mountain  slope, 

Where  we  sat  and  watched  new  worlds  wheel  into  sight. 

And  we  saw  this  little  planet  known  as  Earth, 
When  the  mighty  Mother  Chaos  gave  it  birth ; 
But  in  love's  conceit  we  thought 
All  these  worlds  from  space  were  brought, 
For  no  greater  aim,  or  purpose,  than  our  mirth. 

And  we  laughed  in  love's  abandon,  and  we  sang 
Till  the  echoing  peaks  of  Aristarchus  rang, 
As  hot-hissing  comets  came, 
And  white  suns  burst  into  flame, 
And  a  myriad  of  worlds  from  darkness  sprang. 

I  can  show  you  when  the  moon  is  at  its  best, 
Aristarchus  and  the  spot  we  made  our  nest. 
Oh,  I  always  wondered  why, 
When  the  moon  was  in  the  sky, 
I  was  stirred  with  such  strange  longings  and  unrest. 

And  I  knew  the  subtle  beauty  and  the  force 
Of  our  love  was  never  bounded  by  earth's  course ! 
So  with  Memory's  sail  unfurled, 
I  went  cruising  past  this  world 
And  I  followed,  till  I  traced  it  to  its  source. 


LOVE'S  MIRAGE  13 


LOVE'S  MIRAGE 

Midway  upon  the  route,  he  paused  athirst ; 

And  suddenly  across  the  wastes  of  heat, 

He  saw  cool  waters  gleaming,  and  a  sweet 
Green  oasis  upon  his  vision  burst. 
A  tender  dream,  long  in  his  bosom  nursed, 

Spread  love's  illusive  verdure  for  his  feet ; 

The  barren  sands  changed  into  golden  wheat ; 
The  way  grew  glad  that  late  had  seemed  accursed. 

She  shone,  the  woman  wonder,  on  his  soul ; 
The  garden  spot,  for  which  men  toil  and  wait ; 

The  house  of  rest,  that  is  each  heart's  demand ; 
But  when,  at  last,  he  reached  the  gleaming  goal, 
He  found,  oh,  cruel  irony  of  fate, 
But  desert  sun  upon  the  desert  sand. 


14  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  NEED  OF  THE  WORLD 

I  know  the  need  of  the  world, 

Though  it  would  not  have  me  know. 

It  would  hide  its  sorrow  deep, 
Where  only  God  may  go. 

Yet  its  secret  it  can  not  keep; 

It  tells  it  awake,  or  asleep, 

It  tells  it  to  all  who  will  heed, 

And  he  who  runs  may  read. 
The  need  of  the  world  I  know. 

I  know  the  need  of  the  world, 

When  it  boasts  of  its  wealth  the  loudest, 
When  it  flaunts  it  in  all  men's  eyes, 

When  its  mien  is  the  gayest  and  proudest. 
Oh !  ever  it  lies — it  lies, 
For  the  sound  of  its  laughter  dies 
In  a  sob  and  a  smothered  moan, 
And  it  weeps  when  it  sits  alone. 

The  need  of  the  world  I  know. 

I  know  the  need  of  the  world. 

When  the  earth  shakes  under  the  tread 
Of  men  who  march  to  the  fight, 

When  rivers  with  blood  are  red 
And  there  is  no  law  but  might, 
And  the  wrong  way  seems  the  right ; 
When  he  who  slaughters  the  most 
Is  all  men's  pride  and  boast, 

The  need  of  the  world  I  know. 


THE  NEED   OF  THE   WORLD  15 

I  know  the  need  of  the  world. 

When  it  babbles  of  gold  and  fame, 
It  is  only  to  lead  us  astray 

From  the  thing  that  it  dare  not  name 
For  this  is  the  sad  world's  way. 
Oh !  poor  blind  world  grown  gray 
With  the  need  of  a  thing  so  near, 
With  the  want  of  a  thing  so  dear. 

The  need  of  the  world  I  know. 

The  need  of  the  world  is  love. 

Deep  under  the  pride  of  power, 
Down  under  its  lust  of  greed, 

For  the  joys  that  last  but  an  hour, 
There  lies  forever  its  need. 
For  love  is  the  law  and  the  creed 
And  love  is  the  unnamed  goal 
Of  life,  from  man  to  the  mole. 
Love  is  the  need  of  the  world. 


16  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  GULP  STREAM 

Skilled  mariner,  and  counted  sane  and  wise, 
That  was  a  curious  thing  which  chanced  to  me, 
So  good  a  sailor  on  so  fair  a  sea. 

With  favoring  winds  and  blue  unshadowed  skies, 

Led  by  the  faithful  beacon  of  Love's  eyes, 
Past  reef  and  shoal,  my  life-boat  bounded  free 
And  fearless  of  all  changes  that  might  be 

Under  calm  waves,  where  many  a  sunk  rock  lies. 

A  golden  dawn ;  yet  suddenly  my  barque 
Strained  at  the  sails,  as  in  a  cyclone's  blast ; 

And  battled  with  an  unseen  current's  force, 
For  we  had  entered  when  the  night  was  dark 
That  old  tempestuous  Gulf  Stream  of  the  Past. 
But  for  love's  eyes,  I  had  not  kept  the  course. 


FORBIDDEN  SPEECH  17 


FORBIDDEN  SPEECH 

The  passion  you  forbade  my  lips  to  utter 
Will  not  be  silenced.    You  must  hear  it  in 

The  sullen  thunders,  when  they  roll  and  mutter, 
And  when  the  tempest  nears,  with  wail  and  din, 

I  know  your  calm  forgetfulness  is  broken, 

And  to  your  heart  you  whisper, 
"He  has  spoken." 

All  nature  understands  and  sympathizes 
With  human  passion.    When  the  restless  sea 

Turns  in  its  futile  search  for  peace,  and  rises 
To  plead  and  to  pursue,  it  speaks  for  me. 

And  with  each  desperate  billow's  anguish  fretting 

Your  heart  must  tell  you, 

"He  is  not  forgetting" 

When  unseen  hands  in  lightning  strokes  are  writing, 
Mysterious  words,  upon  a  cloudy  scroll, 

Know  that  my  pent-up  passion  is  indicting 
A  cipher  message  for  your  listening  soul. 

And  when  the  lawless  winds  rush  by  you  shrieking, 

Let  your  heart  say, 

"Now  his  despair  is  speaking" 

Love  comes,  nor  goes,  at  beck  or  call  of  reason ; 

Nor  is  Love  silent,  though  it  says  no  word. 
By  day  or  night,  in  any  clime  or  season, 

A  dominating  passion  must  be  heard. 


18  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

So  shall  you  hear,  through  Junes  and  through  De- 
cembers, 

The  voice  of  Nature  saying, 
"He  remembers." 


THE  GHOST 

Through  the  open  gate  of  Dreamland 
Came  a  ghost  of  long  ago,  long  ago. 

When  I  wakened,  all  unheeding 

Was  the  phantom  to  my  pleading, 
For  he  would  not  turn  and  go. 

But  beside  me  all  the  day 

In  my  work,  and  in  my  play, 

Trod  this  ghost  of  long  ago,  long  ago. 

Not  a  vague  and  pallid  phantom 

Was  this  ghost  that  came  to  me,  followed  me ; 
Though  he  rose  from  regions  haunted, 
Though  he  came  unbid,  unwanted, 

He  was  very  fair  to  see. 
Like  the  radiant  sun  in  space 
Was  the  halo  round  the  face 

Of  that  ghost  that  came  to  me,  followed  me. 

And  he  wore  no  shroud  or  cerecloth, 

As  he  wandered  at  my  side,  close  beside. 

He  was  clothed  in  royal  splendor, 

And  his  eyes  were  deep  and  tender, 
While  he  walked  in  stately  pride. 


THE  GHOST  19 

And  he  seemed  like  some  great  king, 
Not  afraid  of  anything, 

As  he  wandered  at  my  side,  close  beside. 

Then  I  turned  to  him,  commanding 

That  he  go  the  way  he  came,  whence  he  came ; 

But  he  answered  me  in  sorrow, 

"May  the  Past  not  seek  to  borrow 
From  the  Present,  without  blame, 

Just  one  memory  from  its  store, 

Ere  it  goes  to  come  no  more, 

Back  the  pathway  that  it  came,  whence  it  came?" 

Then,  ashamed  of  my  full  coffers, 

I  gave  forth  from  Memory's  hold  (wondrous  hold!) 
All  I  owed  of  tax,  and  duty, 
For  remembered  hours  of  beauty, 

Which  I  paid  in  thoughts  of  gold. 
Yet  my  Present  seemed  to  be, 
Richer  still  for  all  the  fee 

I  gave  forth  from  Memory's  hold  (wondrous  hold!) 


20  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


REINCARNATION 

He  slept  as  weary  toilers  do ; 

She  gazed  up  at  the  moon. 
He  stirred  and  said,  "Wife,  come  to  bed ;" 

She  answered,  "Soon,  full  soon." 
(Oh,  that  strange  mystery  of  the  dead  moon's  face!) 

Her  cheek  was  wan ;  her  wistful  mouth 

Was  lifted  like  a  cup. 
The  moonfull  night  dripped  liquid  light ; 

She  seemed  to  quaff  it  up. 
(Oh,  that  unburied  corpse  that  lies  in  space!} 

Her  life  had  held  but  drudgery ; 

She  spelled  her  Bible  through. 
Of  book  and  lore  she  knew  no  more 

Than  little  children  do. 
(Oh,  the  wierd  wonder  of  that  pallid  sphere!} 

Her  youth  had  been  a  leaden  sky 

Starred  by  no  holiday, 
And  she  had  wed  for  roof  and  bread ; 

She  gave  her  work  in  pay. 
(Oh,  the  moon  memories,  vague  and  sweet  and  dear!} 

She  drank  the  night's  insidious  wine, 

And  saw  another  scene — 
A  stately  room,  rare  flowers  in  bloom, 

Herself  in  silken  sheen. 
(Oh,  vast  the  chambers  of  the  moon  and  wide!} 


REINCARNATION  21 

A  step  drew  near,  a  curtain  stirred ; 

She  shook  with  sweet  alarms. 
Oh,  splendid  face !  oh,  manly  grace ! 

Oh,  strong  outreaching  arms ! 
(Oh,  silent  moon,  what  secrets  do  you  hide!) 

The  burning  lips  of  thirsting  love 

Were  parched  with  passion's  drouth. 
As  the  bee  knows  where  honey  grows, 

They  sought  her  cheek,  her  mouth. 
(Oh,  the  dead  moon  holds  many  a  dead  delight!) 

The  sleeper  stirred  and  gruffly  spoke : 
"Come,  wife!  Where  have  you  been?"- 

She  whispered  low,  "Dear  God,  I  go — 
But  'tis  the  seventh  sin." 

(Oh,  the  sad  secrets  of  that  orb  of 


22  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


A  MAN'S  LAST  LOVE 

Like  the  tenth  wave  that  offers  to  the  shore 

Accumulated  opulence  and  force, 
So  does  my  heart,  which  thought  it  loved  of  yore, 

Convey  increasing  passion  down  the  course 
Of  time  to  proffer  thee. 

Oh,  not  the  faint 

First  ripple  of  the  sea  should  be  its  pride, 
But  the  great  climax  of  its  unrestraint, 

Which  culminates  in  one  commanding  tide. 

The  lesser  billows  of  each  crude  emotion 
Break  on  life's  strand,  recede  and  then  unite 

With  love's  large  sea,  and  to  some  late  devotion, 
Unrecognized,  they  bring  their  lost  delight. 

So  all  the  vanished  fancies  of  my  past 

Live  yet  in  this  one  passion,  grand  and  vast. 


A   HOLIDAY  23 


A  HOLIDAY 

The  Wife 
The  house  is  like  a  garden, 

The  children  are  the  flowers ; 
The  gardener  should  come,  methinks, 

And  walk  among  his  bowers. 
Oh,  lock  the  door  on  worry, 

And  shut  your  cares  away ! 
Not  time  of  year,  but  love  and  cheer, 

Will  make  a  holiday. 

The  Husband 

Impossible !    You  women  do  not  know 
The  toil  it  takes  to  make  a  business  grow. 
I  cannot  join  you  until  very  late, 
So  hurry  home,  nor  let  the  dinner  wait. 

The  Wife 
The  feast  will  be  like  Hamlet, 

Without  a  Hamlet  part. 
The  home  is  but  a  house,  dear, 

Till  you  supply  the  heart. 
The  Christmas  gift  I  long  for, 

You  need  not  toil  to  buy. 
Oh,  give  me  back  one  thing  I  lack — 

The  love-light  in  your  eye! 

The  Husband 

Of  course  I  love  you,  and  the  children  too 
Be  sensible,  my  dear ;  it  is  for  you 


24  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

I  work  so  hard  to  make  my  business  pay. 
There  now,  run  home;  enjoy  your  holiday. 

The  Wife  (turning  away) 
He  does  not  mean  to  wound  me, 

I  know  his  heart  is  kind. 
Alas,  that  men  can  love  us, 

And  be  so  blind,  so  blind! 
A  little  time  for  pleasure, 

A  little  time  for  play, 
A  word  to  prove  the  life  of  love 

And  frighten  care  away, 
Though  poor  my  lot  in  some  small  cot — 

That  were  a  holiday. 

The  Husband  (musing} 
She  has  not  meant  to  wound  me  or  to  vex. 
Zounds !  but  'tis  difficult  to  please  the  sex. 
I've  housed  and  gowned  her  like  a  very  queen, 
Yet  there  she  goes  with  discontented  mien. 
I  gave  her  diamonds  only  yesterday. 
Some  women  are  like  that,  do  what  you  may. 


LOVE'S  W 'AY  25 


LOVE'S  WAYS 

Love  gives  us  curious  potions  of  delight, 

Of  pain  and  ecstacy,  and  peace  and  care, 
Love  leads  us  upward,  to  the  mountain  height 

And,  like  an  angel,  stands  beside  us  there. 
Then  thrusts  us,  demon-like,  in  some  abyss 

Where,  in  the  darkness  of  despair,  we  grope 
Till,  suddenly,  love  greets  us  with  a  kiss 

And  guides  us  back  to  flowery  fields  of  hope. 

Love  makes  all  wisdom  seem  but  poorest  folly, 
And  yet  the  simplest  mind,  with  love  grows  wise. 

The  gayest  heart,  he  teaches  melancholy ; 
Yet  glorifies  the  erstwhile  brooding  eyes. 

Love  lives  on  change,  and  yet  at  change  love  mocks, 

For  love's  whole  life,  is  one  great  paradox. 


2S  PQRMS  OF  PROGRESS 


WORDS  AND  THOUGHTS 

He  said,  as  he  sat  in  her  theater  box 

Between  the  acts :    "What  beastly  weather ! 
How  like  a  parrot  the  lover  talks, 
And  the  lady  is  tame,  and  the  villain  stalks. 
I  hope  they  finally  die  together." 

He  thought :    "You  are  fair  as  the  dawn's  first  ray 
I  know  the  angels  keep  guard  above  you. 

And  so  I  chatter  of  weather  and  play, 

While  all  the  time  I  am  mad  to  say, 
'I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you.'  " 

He  said :    "The  season  is  almost  run. 

How  glad  we  are  when  the  farce  is  over, 
For  the  toil  of  pleasure  is  more  than  its  fun, 
And  what  is  it  all  when  all  is  done, 

But  the  stick  of  a  rocket  that  has  descended." 

He  thought :    "O  God,  to  be  off  somewhere, 
Afar  with  you  from  this  scene  of  fashion ; 
To  know  you  were  mine  and  to  have  you  care, 
And  to  lose  myself  in  the  crimson  snare 
Of  your  lips  in  a  kiss  of  passion." 

He  said :    "You  are  going  abroad,  no  doubt, 
The  land  of  Liberty  coldly  scorning; 

I,  too,  shall  journey  a  bit  about. 

From  Wall  Street  up  by  the  L  road  out 
To  Harlem — and  down  each  morning." 


REMEMBERED  27 

He  thought :    "It  must  follow  on  land  or  sea, 
This  pent-up,  passionate,  dumb  devotion, 
Till  the  cry  of  a  rapture  that  may  not  be 
Shall  reach  your  heart  from  the  heart  of  me, 
And  stir  you  with  strange  emotion." 


REMEMBERED 

His  art  was  loving ;  Eres  set  his  sign 

Upon  that  youthful  forehead,  and  he  drew 
The  hearts  of  women,  as  the  sun  draws  dew. 

Love  feeds  love's  thirst  as  wine  feeds  love  of  wine; 

Nor  is  there  any  potion  from  the  vine 

Which  makes  men  drunken  like  the  subtle  brew 
Of  kisses  crushed  by  kisses ;  and  he  grew 

Inebriated  with  that  draught  divine. 

Yet  in  his  sober  moments,  when  the  sun 
Of  radiant  summer  paled  to  lonely  fall, 

And  passion's  sea  had  grown  an  ebbing  tide, 
From  out  the  many,  Memory  singled  one 

Full  cup  that  seemed  the  sweetest  of  them  all — 
The  warm  red  mouth  that  mocked  him  and  denied. 


28        POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


HELEN  OF  TROY 

ON  THE  ISLE  OF  CRANAE 

The  world  an  abject  vassal  to  her  charms, 
And  kings  competing  for  a  single  smile, 
Yet  love  she  knew  not,  till  upon  this  isle 

She  gave  surrender  to  abducting  arms. 

Not  Theseus,  who  plucked  her  lips'  first  kiss, 
Not  Menelaus,  lawful  mate  and  spouse, 
Such  answering  passion  in  her  heart  could  rouse, 

Or  wake  such  tumult  in  her  soul  as  this. 

Let  come  what  will,  let  Greece  and  Asia  meet, 
Let  heroes  die  and  kingdoms  run  with  gore ; 
Let  devastation  spread  from  shore  to  shore — 

Resplendent  Helen  finds  her  bondage  sweet. 

The  whole  world  fights  her  battles,  while  she  lies 

Sunned  in  the  fervor  of  young  Paris'  eyes. 

ON  THE  ISLE  OF  RHODES 

The  battles  ended,  ardent  Paris  dead, 

Of  faithful  Menelaus  long  bereft, 

Time  is  the  only  suitor  who  is  left : 
Helen  survives,  with  youth  and  beauty  fled. 
By  hate  remembered,  but  by  love  forgot, 

Dethroned  and  driven  from  her  high  estate, 

Unhappy  Helen  feels  the  lash  of  Fate 
And  knows  at  last  an  unloved  woman's  lot. 
The  Grecian  marvel,  and  the  Trojan  joy, 


LAIS  WHEN  YOUNG  29 

The  world's  fair  wonder,  from  her  palace  flies. 
The  furies  follow,  and  great  Helen  dies, 
A  death  of  horror,  for  the  pride  of  Troy. 


Yet  Time,  like  Menelaus,  all  forgives. 
Helen,  immortal  in  her  beauty,  lives. 


LAIS  WHEN  YOUNG 

Lais  when  young,  and  all  her  charms  in  flower, 
Lais,  whose  beauty  was  the  fateful  light 
That  led  great  ships  to  anchor  in  the  night 

And  bring  their  priceless  cargoes  to  her  bower, 

Lais  yet  found  her  cup  of  sweet  turned  sour. 
Great  Plato's  pupil,  from  his  lofty  height, 
Zenocrates,  unmoved,  had  seen  the  white 

Sweet  wonder  of  her,  and  defied  her  power. 

She  snared  the  world  in  nets  of  subtle  wiles : 
The  proud,  the  famed,  all  clamored  at  her  gate; 

Dictators  plead,  inside  her  portico; 
Wisdom  sought  madness,  in  her  favoring  smiles ; 
Now  was  she  made  the  laughing-stock  of  fate : 
One  loosed  her  clinging  arms,  and  bade  her  go. 


30  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


LAIS  WHEN  OLD 

Lais,  when  old  and  all  her  beauty  gone, 

Lais,  the  erstwhile  courted  pleasure  queen, 
Walked  homeless  through  Corinth.    One  mocked  her 

mien — 

One  tossed  her  coins ;  she  took  them  and  passed  on. 
Down  by  the  harbor  sloped  a  terraced  lawn, 

Where  fountains  played;  she  paused  to  view  the 

scene. 

A  marble  palace  stood  in  bowers  of  green. 
'Twas  here  of  old  she  reveled  till  the  dawn. 

Through  yonder  portico  her  lovers  came — 
Hero  and  statesman,  athlete,  merchant,  sage; 

They  flung  the  whole  world's  treasures  at  her  feet 
To  buy  her  favor  and  exalt  her  shame. 

******* 

She  spat  upon  her  dole  of  coins  in  rage 
And  faded  like  a  phantom  down  the  street. 


AT  BAY  31 


AT  BAY 

Wife 

Reach  out  your  arms,  and  hold  me  close  and  fast. 
Tell  me  there  are  no  memories  of  your  past 
That  mar  this  love  of  ours,  so  great,  so  vast. 

Husband 

Some  truths  are  cheapened  when  too  oft  averred. 
Does  not  the  deed  speak  louder  than  the  word  ? 
(  Dear  God,  that  old  dream  woke  again  and  stirred. ) 

Wife 

As  you  love  me,  you  never  loved  before  ? 
Though  oft  you  say  it,  say  it  yet  once  more. 
My  heart  is  jealous  of  those  days  of  yore. 

Husband 

Sweet  wife,  dear  comrade,  mother  of  my  child, 

My  life  is  yours  by  memory  undefiled. 

(It  stirs  again,  that  passion  brief  and  wild.) 

Wife 

You  never  knew  a  happier  hour  than  this  ? 
We  two  alone,  our  hearts  surcharged  with  bliss, 
Nor  other  kisses,  sweet  as  my  own  kiss? 

Husband 

I  was  a  thirsty  field,  long  parched  with  drouth ; 
You  were  the  warm  rain,  blowing  from  the  south. 
(But,  ah,  the  crimson  madness  of  her  mouth !) 

3 


32  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Wife 

You  would  not,  if  you  could,  go  down  life's  track 
For  just  one  little  moment  and  bring  back 
Some  vanished  rapture  that  you  miss  or  lack  ? 

Husband 

I  am  content.    You  are  my  life,  my  all. 
(One  burning  hour,  but  one,  could  I  recall ; 
God,  how  men  lie  when  driven  to  the  wall !) 


HOLIDAY  SONGS 
I 

Sailing  away  on  a  summer  sea, 

Out  of  the  bleak  March  weather ; 
Drifting  away  for  a  loaf  and  play, 

Just  you  and  I  together ; 
And  it's  good-bye  worry  and  good-bye  hurry 
And  never  a  care  have  we ; 
With  the  sea  below  and  the  sun  above 
And  nothing  to  do  but  dream  and  love, 

Sailing  away  together. 

Sailing  away  from  the  grim  old  town 

And  tasks  the  town  calls  duty; 
Sailing  away  from  walls  of  gray 

To  a  land  of  bloom  and  beauty, 
And  it's  good-bye  to  letters  from  our  lessers  and  our 

betters, 

To  the  cold  world's  smile  or  its  frown. 
We  sail  away  on  a  sunny  track 
To  find  the  summer  and  bring  it  back 

And  love  is  our  only  duty. 


HOLIDAY  SONGS  33 

II 

Afloat  on  a  sea  of  passion 

Without  a  compass  or  chart, 
But  the  glow  of  your  eye  shows  the  sun  is  high, 

By  the  sextant  of  my  heart. 
I  know  we  are  nearing  the  tropics 

By  the  languor  that  round  us  lies, 
And  the  smile  on  your  mouth  says  the  course  is  south 

And  the  port  is  Paradise. 

We  have  left  gray  skies  behind  us, 

We  sail  under  skies  of  blue ; 
You  are  off  with  me  on  lovers'  sea, 

And  I  am  away  with  you. 
We  have  not  a  single  sorrow, 

And  I  have  but  one  fear — 
That  my  lips  may  miss  one  offered  kiss 

From  the  mouth  that  is  smiling  near. 

There  is  no  land  of  winter; 

There  is  no  world  of  care ; 
There  is  bloom  and  mirth  all  over  the  earth, 

And  love,  love  everywhere. 
Our  boat  is  the  barque  of  Pleasure, 

And  whatever  port  we  sight 
The  touch  of  your  hand  will  make  the  land 

The  Harbor  of  Pure  Delight. 


34  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


HOW  WILL  IT  BE? 

How  will  it  be  when  one  of  us  alone 

Goes  on  that  strange,  last  journey  of  the  soul, 

That  voyage  on  which  no  comradeship  is  known  ? 

Will  our  dear  sea  sing  in  the  old  sweet  tone, 
Though  one  sits  stricken  where  its  billows  roll  ? 
Will  space  be  dumb,  or  from  the  mystic  pole 

Will  whisperings  of  love  be  backward  blown. 

When  our  united  lives  are  wrenched  apart, 
And  day  no  more  means  sweet  companionship; 

When  fervent  night,  and  lovely  languorous  dawn, 
Are  only  memories  to  one  sad  heart, 

And  but  in  dreams  fond  kisses  burn  the  lip, 

Dear  God,  how  can  this  same  fair  world  move  on  ? 


ASTROLABIUS  35 


ASTROLABIUS 

(THE  CHIU)  OF  ABELARD  AND  H£IX)ISE) 
I 

Wrenched  from  a  passing  comet  in  its  flight, 
By  that  great  force  of  two  mad  hearts  aflame, 
A  soul  incarnate,  back  to  earth  you  came, 

To  glow  like  star-dust  for  a  little  night. 

Deep  shadows  hide  you  wholly  from  our  sight ; 
The  centuries  leave  nothing  but  your  name, 
Tinged  with  the  luster  of  a  splendid  shame, 

That  blazed  oblivion  with  rebellious  light. 

The  mighty  passion  that  became  your  cause, 

Still  burns  its  lengthening  path  across  the  years ; 

We  feel  its  raptures,  and  we  see  its  tears 
And  ponder  on  its  retributive  laws. 

Time  keeps  that  deathless  story  ever  new ; 

Yet  finds  no  answer,  when  we  ask  of  you. 

II 

At  Argenteuil,  1  saw  the  lonely  cell 
Where  Heloise  dreamed  through  her  broken  rest, 
That  baby  lips  pulled  at  her  undried  breast. 

It  needed  but  my  woman's  heart  to  tell 

Of  those  long  vigils  and  the  tears  that  fell 
When  aching  arms  reached  out  in  fruitless  quest, 
As  after  flight,  wings  brood  an  empty  nest. 

(So  well  I  know  that  sorrow,  ah,  so  well.) 


36  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Across  the  centuries  there  comes  no  sound 
Of  that  vast  anguish ;  not  one  sigh  or  word 
Or  echo  of  the  mother  loss  has  stirred, 

The  sea  of  silence,  lasting  and  profound. 
Yet  to  each  heart,  that  once  has  felt  this  grief, 
Sad  Memory  restores  Time's  missing  leaf. 

Ill 

But  what  of  you  ?  Who  took  the  mother's  place 
When  sweet  expanding  love  its  object  sought  ? 
Was  there  a  voice  to  tell  her  tragic  lot, 

And  did  you  ever  look  upon  her  face? 

Was  yours  a  cloistered  seeking  after  grace? 
Or  in  the  flame  of  adolescent  thought 
Were  Abelard's  departed  passions  caught 

To  burn  again  in  you  and  leave  their  trace  ? 

Conceived  in  nature's  bold  primordial  way 
(As  in  their  revolutions,  suns  create), 
You  came  to  earth,  a  soul  immaculate, 

Baptized  in  fire,  with  some  great  part  to  play. 
What  was  that  part,  and  wherefore  hid  from  us, 
Immortal  mystery,  Astrolabius! 


COMPLETION  37 


COMPLETION 

When  I  shall  meet  God's  generous  dispensers 

Of  all  the  riches  in  the  heavenly  store, 
Those  lesser  gods,  who  act  as  Recompensers 

For  loneliness  and  loss  upon  this  shore, 
Methinks  abashed,  and  somewhat  hesitating, 

My  soul  its  wish  and  longing  will  declare. 
Lest  they  reply :    "Here  are  no  bounties  waiting : 

We  gave  on  earth,  your  portion  and  your  share." 

Then  shall  I  answer :   "Yea,  I  do  remember 

The  many  blessings  to  my  life  allowed ; 
My  June  was  always  longer  than  December, 

My  sun  was  always  stronger  than  my  cloud, 
My  joy  was  ever  deeper  than  my  sorrow, 

My  gain  was  ever  greater  than  my  loss, 
My  yesterday  seemed  less  than  my  tomorrow, 

The  crown  looked  always  larger  than  the  cross. 

"I  have  known  love,  in  all  its  radiant  splendor, 

It  shone  upon  my  pathway  to  the  end. 
I  trod  no  road  that  did  not  bloom  with  tender 

And  fragrant  blossoms,  planted  by  some  friend. 
And  those  material  things  we  call  successes, 

In  modest  measure,  crowned  my  earthly  lot. 
Yet  was  there  one  sweet  happiness  that  blesses 

The  life  of  woman,  which  to  me  came  not. 


38  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

"I  knew  the  hope  of  motherhood ;  a  season 

I  felt  a  fluttering  heart  beat  'neath  my  own ; 
A  little  cry — then  silence.    For  that  reason 

I  dare,  to  you,  my  only  wish  make  known. 
The  babe  who  grew  to  angelhood  in  heaven, 

I  never  watched  unfold  from  child  to  man. 
And  so  I  ask,  that  unto  me  be  given 

That  motherhood,  which  was  God's  primal  plan. 

"All  womankind  He  meant  to  share  its  glories ; 

He  meant  us  all  to  nurse  our  babes  to  rest. 
To  croon  them  songs,  to  tell  them  sleepy  stories, 

Else  why  the  wonder  of  a  woman's  breast  ? 
He  must  provide  for  all  earth's  cheated  mothers 

In  His  vast  heavens  of  shining  sphere  on  sphere, 
And  with  my  son,  there  must  be  many  others — 

My  spirit  children  who  will  claim  me  here. 

"Fair  creatures  by  my  loving  thoughts  created — 

Too  finely  fashioned  for  a  mortal  birth — 
Between  the  borders  of  two  worlds  they  waited 

Until  they  saw  my  spirit  leave  the  earth. 
In  God's  great  nursery  they  must  be  waiting 

To  welcome  me  with  many  an  infant  wile. 
Now  let  me  go  and  satisfy  this  longing 

To  mother  children  for  a  little  while." 


SLEEP'S  TREACHERY  39 


SLEEP'S  TREACHERY 

As  the  gray  twilight,  tiptoed  down  the  deep 
And  shadowy  valley,  to  the  day's  dark  end, 
She  whom  I  thought  my  ever-faithful  friend, 

Fair-browed,  calm-eyed  and  mother-bosomed  Sleep, 

Met  me  with  smiles.    "Poor  longing  heart,  I  keep 
Sweet  joy  for  you,"  she  murmured.    "I  will  send 
One  whom  you  love,  with  your  own  soul  to  blend 

In  visions,  as  the  night  hours  onward  creep." 

I  trusted  her ;  and  watched  by  starry  beams, 
I  slumbered  soundly,  free  from  all  alarms. 
'   Then  not  my  love,  but  one  long  banished  came, 

Led  by  false  Sleep,  down  secret  stairs  of  dreams 
And  clasped  me,  unresisting  in  fond  arms. 

Oh,  treacherous  sleep — to  sell  me  to  such  shame ! 


40  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


ART  VERSUS  CUPID 

[A  room  in  a  private  house.    A  maiden  sitting  be- 
fore a  grate  fire  meditating.] 

Maiden 

Now  have  I  fully  fixed  upon  my  part. 
Good-bye  to  dreams;  for  me  a  life  of  art! 
Beloved  art !  Oh,  realm  serene  and  fair, 
Above  the  mean  and  sordid  world  of  care, 
Above  earth's  small  ambitions  and  desires! 
Art !  art !  the  very  word  my  soul  inspires ! 
From  foolish  memories  it  sets  me  free. 
Not  what  has  been,  but  that  which  is  to  be 
Absorbs  me  now.    Adieu  to  vain  regret ! 
The  bow  is  tensely  drawn — the  target  set. 
[A  knock  at  the  door.] 

Maid  (aside}. 

The  night  is  dark  and  chill ;  the  hour  is  late. 
(Aloud) 

Who  knocks  upon  my  door? 

A  Voice  Outside 

'Tis  I,  your  fate! 

Maid 

Thou  dost  deceive,  not  me,  but  thine  own  self. 
My  fate  is  not  a  wandering,  vagrant  elf. 
My  fate  is  here,  within  this  throbbing  heart 
That  beats  alone  for  glory,  and  for  art. 


ART   VERSUS  CUPID  41 

Voice 

[Another  knock  at  door.] 
Pray,  let  me  in ;  I  am  so  faint  and  cold. 

[Door  is  pushed  ajar.  Enter  Cupid,  who  approaches 
the  fire  with  outstretched  hands.] 

Maid  (indignantly) 

Methinks  thou  art  not  faint,  however  cold, 
But  rather  too  courageous,  and  most  bold ; 
Surprisingly  ill-mannered,  sir,  and  rude, 
Without  an  invitation  to  intrude 
Into  my  very  presence. 

Cupid  (warming  his  hands) 

But,  you  see, 

Girls  never  mind  a  little  chap  like  me. 
They're  always  watching  for  me  on  the  sly, 
And  hoping  I  will  call. 

Maid  (haughtily) 

Indeed,  not  I! 

My  heart  has  listened  to  a  sweeter  voice, 
A  clarion  call  that  gives  command — not  choice. 
And  I  have  answered  to  that  call,  "I  come;" 
To  other  voices  shall  my  ears  be  dumb. 
To  art  alone  I  consecrate  my  life — 
Art  is  my  spouse,  and  I  his  willing  wife. 

Cupid  (slowly,  gazing  in  the  grate) 

Art  is  a  sultan,  and  you  must  divide 
His  love  with  many  another  ill-fed  bride. 
Now  I  know  one  who  worships  you  alone. 


42  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Maid   (impatiently} 

I  will  not  listen !  for  the  dice  is  thrown 

And  art  has  won  me.    On  my  brow  some  day 

Shall  rest  the  laurel  wreath — 

Cupid  (sitting  down  and  looking  at  maid  critically] 

Just  let  me  say 

I  think  sweet  orange  blossoms  under  lace 
Are  better  suited  to  your  type  of  face. 

Maid  (ignoring  interruption) 
I  yet  shall  stand  before  an  audience 
That  listens  as  one  mind,  absorbed,  intense, 
And  with  my  genius  I  shall  rouse  its  cheers, 
Still  it  to  silence,  soften  it  to  tears, 
Or  wake  its  laughter.    Oh,  the  play !  the  play ! 
The  play's  the  thing!  My  boy,  the  play!! 

Cupid  (suddenly  clapping  his  hands) 

Oh,  say! 

I  know  a  splendid  role  for  you  to  take, 
And  one  that  always  keeps  the  house  awake — 
And  calls  for  pretty  dressing.    Oh,  it's  great ! 

Maid  (excitedly) 
Well,  well,  what  is  it  ?    Wherefore  make  me  wait  ? 

Cupid  (tapping  his  brow,  thoughtfully) 
How  is  it  those  lines  run — oh,  now  I  know ; 
You  make  a  stately  entrance — measured — slow — 
To  stirring  music ;  then  you  kneel  and  say 
Something  about — to  honor  and  obey — 
For  better  and  for  worse — till  death  do  part. 

Maid  (angrily) 
Be  still,  you  foolish  boy ;  that  is  not  art. 


ART   VERSUS  CUPID  43 

Cupid  (seriously) 

She  needs  great  skill  who  takes  the  role  of  wife 
In  God's  stupendous  drama  human  life. 

Maid  (suddenly  becoming  serious) 

So  I  once  thought !  Oh,  once  my  very  soul 

Was  filled  and  thrilled  with  dreaming  of  that  role. 

Life  seemed  so  wonderful ;  it  held  for  me 

No  purpose,  no  ambition,  but  to  be 

Loving  and  loved.    My  highest  thought  of  fame 

Was  some  day  bearing  my  dear  lover's  name. 

Alone,  I  ofttimes  uttered  it  aloud, 

Or  wrote  it  down,  half  timid,  and  all  proud 

To  see  myself  lost  utterly  in  him : 

As  some  small  star  might  joy  in  growing  dim 

When  sinking  in  the  sun ;  or  as  the  dew, 

Forgetting  the  brief  little  life  it  knew 

In  space,  might  on  the  ocean's  bosom  fall 

And  ask  for  nothing — only  to  give  all. 

Cupid  (aside) 

Now,  that's  the  talk — it's  music  to  my  ear 
After  that  stuff  on  "art"  and  a  "career." 
I  hope  she'll  keep  it  up. 

Maiden  (continuing  her  reverie) 
Again  my  dream 

Shaped  into  changing  pictures.    I  would  seem 
To  see  myself  in  beautiful  array 
Move  down  the  aisle  upon  my  wedding  day ; 
And  then  I  saw  the  modest  living-room 
With  lighted  lamp,  and  fragrant  plants  in  bloom, 
And  books  and  sewing  scattered  all  about, 
And  just  we  two  alone. 


44  POEMS   OF  PROGRESS 

Cupid  (in  glee  aside) 

There's  not  a  doubt 
I'll  land  her  yet! 

Maiden 

My  dream  kaleidoscope 

Changed  still  again,  and  framed  love's  dearest  hope — 
The  trinity  of  home;  and  life  was  good 
And  all  its  deepest  meaning  understood. 

[Sits  lost  in  a  dream.  Behind  scenes  a  voice  sings  a 
lullaby,  "Beautiful  Land  of  Nod."  Cupid  in  ecstasy 
tiptoes  about  and  clasps  his  hands  in  delight.] 

Another  scene !  a  matron  in  her  prime, 
I  saw  myself  glide  peacefully  with  time 
Into  the  quiet  middle  years,  content 
With  simple  joys  the  dear  home  circle  lent. 
My  sons  and  daughters  made  my  diadem ; 
I  saw  my  happy  youth  renewed  in  them. 
The  pain  of  growing  old  lost  all  its  sting, 
For  Love  stood  near — in  Winter,  as  in  Spring. 

[Cupid  tiptoes  to  door  and  makes  a  signal.  Maiden 
starts  up  dramatically.] 

'Twas  but  a  dream !    I  woke  all  suddenly. 

The  world  had  changed !    And  now  life  means  to  me 

My  art — the  stage — excitement  and  the  crowd — 

The  glare  of  many  foot-lights — and  the  loud 

Applause  of  men,  as  I  cry  in  rage, 

"Give  me  the  dagger !"  or  creep  down  the  stage 

In  that  sleep-walking  scene.    Oh,  art  like  mine 

Will  send  the  chills  down  every  listener's  spine! 


ART   VERSUS  CUPID  45 

And  when  I  choose,  salt  tears  shall  freely  flow 
As  in  the  moonlight  I  cry,  "Romeo!  Romeo! 
Oh,  wherefore  art  thou,  Romeo?" 

Ay,  'tis  done 
My  dream  of  home  life. 

Cupid 

It  is  but  begun. 

Maiden 

The  heart  but  once  can  dream  a  dream  so  fair, 
And  so  henceforth  love  thoughts  I  do  forswear; 
Since  faith  in  love  has  crumbled  to  the  dust, 
In  fame  alone,  I  put  my  hope  and  trust. 

[Cupid  at  the  door  beckons  excitedly.    Enter  lover 
with  outstretched  arms.] 

Cupid 

Here's  one  who  will  explain  yourself  to  you 
And  make  that  old  sweet  dream  of  love  come  true. 
Fix  up  your  foolish  quarrel ;  time  is  brief — 
So  waste  no  more  of  it  in  doubt  or  gi  ief . 

[The  lovers  meet  and  embrace.] 
Cupid  (in  doorway} 

Warm  lip  to  lip,  and  heart  to  beating  heart, 
The  cast  is  made — My  Lady  has  her  part. 

CURTAIN 


46  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  REVOLT  OF  VASHTI 

(FROM  THE  DRAMA  OF  MIZPAH) 

'Ahasueras 

Is  this  the  way  to  greet  thy  loving  spouse, 

But  now  returned  from  scenes  of  blood  and  strife? 

I  pray  thee  raise  thy  veil  and  let  me  gaze 

Upon  that  beauty  which  hath  greater  power 

To  conquer  me  than  all  the  arts  of  war ! 

Vaskti 

My  beauty!  Aye,  my  beauty!  I  do  hold, 
In  thy  regard,  no  more  an  honored  place 
Than  yonder  marble  pillar,  or  the  gold 
And  jeweled  wine  cup  which  thy  lips  caress. 
Thou  would'st  degrade  me  in  the  people's  sight ! 

Ahasueras 

Degrade  thee,  Vashti  ?    Rather  do  I  seek 

To  show  my  people  who  are  gathered  here 

How,  as  the  consort  of  so  fair  a  queen, 

I  feel  more  pride  than  as  the  mighty  king: 

For  there  be  many  rulers  on  the  earth, 

But  only  one  such  queen.    Come,  raise  thy  veil ! 

Vashti 

Aye !  only  one  such  queen !    A  queen  is  one 
Who  shares  her  husband's  greatness  and  his  throne. 
I  am  no  more  than  yonder  dancing  girl 
Who  struts  and  smirks  before  a  royal  court ! 
But  I  will  loose  my  veil  and  loose  my  tongue ! 


THE  REVOLT  OF   VASHTI  47 

Now  listen,  sire — my  master  and  my  king; 
And  let  thy  princes  and  the  court  give  ear ! 
Tis  time  all  heard  how  Vashti  feels  her  shame. 

'Ahasueras 

Shame  is  no  word  to  couple  with  thy  name ! 
Shame  and  a  spotless  woman  may  not  meet, 
Even  in  a  sentence.  Choose  another  word. 

Vashti 

Aye,  shame,  my  lord — there  is  no  synonym 

That  can  give  voice  to  my  ignoble  state. 

To  be  a  thing  for  eyes  to  gaze  upon, 

Yet  held  an  outcast  from  thy  heart  and  mind ; 

To  hear  my  beauty  praised  but  not  my  worth ; 

To  come  and  go  at  Pleasure's  beck  and  call, 

While  barred  from  Wisdom's  conclaves !  Think  ye  that 

A  noble  calling  for  a  noble  dame  ? 

Why,  any  concubine  amongst  thy  train 

Could  play  my  royal  part  as  well  as  I — 

Were  she  as  fair ! 

Ahasueras 

Queen  Vashti,  art  thou  mad? 
I  would  behead  another  did  he  dare 
To  so  besmirch  thee  with  comparison. 

Vashti  (to  the  court) 

Gaze  now  your  fill !  Behold  Queen  Vashti's  eyes ! 
How  large  they  gleam  beneath  her  inch  of  brow ! 
How  like  a  great  white  star,  her  splendid  face 
Shines  through  the  midnight  forest  of  her  hair ! 
And  see  the  crushed  pomegranite  of  her  mouth ! 
Observe  her  arms,  her  throat,  her  gleaming"  breasts, 
Whereon  the  royal  jewels  rise  and  fall! — 


48  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

And  note  the  crescent  curving  of  her  hips, 
And  lovely  limbs  suggested  'neath  her  robes ! 
Gaze,  gaze,  I  say,  for  these  have  made  her  queen ! 
She  hath  no  mind,  no  heart,  no  dignity, 
Worth  royal  recognition  and  regard ; 
But  her  fair  body  approbation  meets 
And  whets  the  sated  appetite  of  kings ! 
Now  ye  have  seen  what  she  was  bid  to  show. 
The  queen  hath  played  her  part  and  begs  to  go. 

Ahasueras 

Aye,  Vashti,  go  and  never  more  return ! 
Not  only  hast  thou  wronged  thine  own  true  lord, 
And  mocked  and  shamed  me  in  the  people's  eyes, 
But  thou  hast  wronged  all  princes  and  all  men 
By  thy  pernicious  and  rebellious  ways. 
Queens  act  and  subjects  imitate.     So  let 
Queen  Vashti  weigh  her  conduct  and  her  words, 
Or  be  no  more  called  "queen !" 

Vashti 

I  was  a  princess  ere  I  was  a  queen, 

And  worthy  of  a  better  fate  than  this ! 

There  lies  the  crown  that  made  me  queen  in  name ! 

Here  stands  the  woman — wife  in  name  alone ! 

Now,  no  more  queen — nor  wife — but  woman  still — 

Aye,  and  a  woman  strong  enough  to  be 

Her  own  avenger. 


THE  CHOOSING  OF  ESTHER  49 


THE  CHOOSING  OF  ESTHER 
(FROM  THE  DRAMA  OF  MIZPAH) 

Ahasueras 
Tell  me  thy  name ! 

Esther 
My  name,  great  sire,  is  Esther. 

Ahasueras 

So  thou  art  Esther  ?    Esther !  'tis  a  name 
Breathed  into  sound  as  softly  as  a  sigh. 
A  woman's  name  should  melt  upon  the  lips 
Like  Love's  first  kisses,  and  thy  countenance 
Is  fit  companion  for  so  sweet  a  name ! 

Esther 

Thou  art  most  kind.    I  would  my  name  and  face 
Were  mine  own  making  and  not  accident. 
Then  I  might  feel  elated  at  thy  praise, 
Where  now  I  feel  confusion. 

Ahasueras 

Thou  hast  wit 

As  well  as  beauty,  Esther.    Both  are  gems 
That  do  embellish  woman  in  man's  sight. 
Yet  they  are  gems  of  second  magnitude ! 
Dost  thou  possess  the  one  great  perfect  gem — 
The  matchless  jewel  of  the  world  called  love? 


50  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Esther 

Sire,  in  the  heart  of  every  woman  dwells 
That  wondrous  perfect  gem! 

Ahasueras 

Then,  Esther,  speak ! 

And  tell  me  what  is  love!    I  fain  would  know 
Thy  definition  of  that  much-mouthed  word, 
By  woman  most  employed — least  understood. 

Esther 

What  can  a  humble  Jewish  maiden  know 
That  would  instruct  a  warrior  and  a  king  ? 
I  have  but  dreamed  of  love  as  maidens  will, 
While  thou  hast  known  its  fulness.    All  the  world 
Loves  Great  Ahasueras ! 

AJiasueras 

All  the  world 

Fears  great  Ahasueras !    Kings,  my  child, 
Are  rarely  loved  as  anything  but  kings. 
Love,  as  I  see  it  in  the  court  and  camp, 
Means  seeking  royal  favor.     I  would  know 
How  love  is  fashioned  in  a  maiden's  dreams. 

Esther 

Sire,  love  seeks  nothing  that  kings  can  bestow. 
Love  is  the  king  of  all  kings  here  below ; 
Love  makes  the  monarch  but  a  bashful  boy, 
Love  makes  the  peasant  monarch  in  his  joy; 
Love  seeks  not  place,  all  places  are  the  same, 
When  lighted  by  the  radiance  of  love's  flame. 
Who  deems  proud  love  could   fawn  to   power  and 

splendor 
Hath  known  not  love,  but  some  base-born  pretender. 


THE   CHOOSING   OF  ESTHER  51 

Ahasueras 

If  this  be  love,  I  would  know  more  of  it. 
Speak  on,  fair  Esther !    What  is  love  beside  ? 

Esther 

Love  is  in  all  things,  all  things  are  in  love. 

Love  is  the  earth,  the  sea,  the  skies  above ; 

Love  is  the  bird,  the  blossom,  and  the  wind ; 

Love  hath  a  million  eyes,  yet  love  is  blind ; 

Love  is  a  tempest,  awful  in  its  might ; 

Love  is  the  silence  of  a  moon-lit  night ; 

Love  is  the  aim  of  every  human  soul ; 

And  he  who  hath  not  loved  hath  missed  life's  goal ! 

Ahasueras 

But  tell  me  of  thyself,  of  thine  own  dreams! 
How  wouldst  thou  love,  and  how  be  loved  again  ? 

Esther 

Who  most  doth  love  thinks  least  of  love's  return ; 
She  is  content  to  feel  the  passion  burn 
In  her  own  bosom,  and  its  sacred  fire 
Consumes  each  selfish  purpose  and  desire. 
'Tis  in  the  giving,  love's  best  rapture  lies, 
Not  in  the  counting  of  the  things  it  buys. 

Ahasueras 

Yet,  is  there  not  vast  anguish  and  despair 

In  love  that  finds  no  answering  word  or  smile  ? 

Esther 

So  radiant  is  love,  it  lends  a  glow 

To  each  dark  sorrow  and  to  every  woe. 

To  love  completely  is  to  part  with  pain, 


52  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Nor  is  there  mortal  who  can  love  in  vain. 
Love  is  its  own  reward,  it  pays  full  measure, 
And  in  love's  sharpest  grief  lies  subtlest  pleasure. 

Ahasueras 

Methinks,  a  mighty  warrior,  lord  or  king 
Must  in  thy  fancy  play  the  lover's  part; 
None  else  could  wake  such  reverential  thought. 

Esther 

When  woman  loves  one  born  of  lowly  state, 

Her  thought  gives  crown  and  scepter  to  her  mate ; 

Yet  be  he  king,  or  chief  of  some  great  clan, 

She  loves  him  but  as  woman  loves  a  man. 

Monarch  or  peasant,  'tis  the  same,  I  wis 

When  once  she  gives  him  love's  surrendering  kiss. 


HONEYMOON  SCENE  53 


HONEYMOON  SCENE 
(FROM  THE  DRAMA  OF  MIZPAH) 

'Ahasueras 
What  were  thy  thoughts,  sweet  Esther?  Something 

passed 

Across  thy  face,  that  for  a  moment  veiled 
Thy  soul  from  mine,  and  left  me  desolate. 
Thy  thoughts  were  not  of  me? 

Esther 

Aye,  all  of  thee ! 

I  wondered,  if  in  truth,  thou  were  content 
With  me — thy  choice.    Was  there  no  other  one 
Of  all  who  passed  before  thee  at  thy  court 
Whose  memory  pursues  thee  with  regret  ? 

Ahasiteras 

I  do  confess  I  much  regret  that  day 
And  wish  I  could  relive  it. 

Esther 

Oh!  My  lord! 
Alwsueras 

Yea !  I  regret  those  hours  I  wasted  on 
The  poor  procession  that  preceded  thee. 
Hadst  thou  come  first,  then  all  the  added  wealth 
Of  one  long  day  of  loving  thee  were  mine — 
A  boundless  fortune  squandered.    Though  I  live 
To  three  score  years  and  ten,  as  I  do  hope, 
In  wedded  love  beside  thee,  that  one  day 
Was  filched  from  me  and  cannot  be  restored. 


54  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Esther 

And  then  to  think  how  frightened  and  abashed 
I  hung  outside  thy  gates  from  early  morn, 
Not  daring  to  go  in  and  meet  thine  eyes, 
Till  pitying  twilight  clothed  me  in  her  veil, 
And  evening  walked  beside  me  to  thy  door. 

Ahasueras 

So  it  was  thou,  fair  thief,  who  stole  that  day, 
And  made  me  poorer,  by — how  many  hours  ? 

Esther 

Full  eight,  I  think.    They  seemed  a  hundred  then, 
And  now  time  flies  a  hundred  times  too  fast. 

Ahasueras 

Then  eight  more  kisses  do  I  claim  from  thee, 

This  very  hour — first  tithes  of  many  due. 

I  shall  exact  these  payments  as  I  will, 

And  if  they  be  not  ready  on  demand, 

I'll  lock  thee  in  the  prison  of  my  arms, 

Like  this — and  take  them  so — and  so — and  so ! 

Esther 

But  kings  must  think  of  other  things  than  love 
And  live  for  other  aims  than  happiness. 
I  would  not  drag  thee  from  thy  altitude 
Of  mighty  ruler  and  great  conqueror 
To  chain  thee  by  my  side. 

Ahasueras 

Such  slavery 

Would  please  me  better  than  to  conquer  earth 
Without  thee,  Esther.    I  have  stood  on  heights 
And  heard  the  cheers  of  multitudes  below ; 


HONEYMOON  SCENE  65 

Have  known  the  loneliness  of  being  great. 
Now,  let  me  live  and  love  thee,  like  a  man, 
Forgetting  I  am  king — 
I  am  content. 

Esther 

Content  is  not  the  pathway  to  great  deeds. 
As  man,  I  hold  thee  higher  than  all  kings ; 
As  king,  thou  must  stand  higher  than  all  men 
In  other  eyes.    Let  no  one  say  of  me : 
"She  spoiled  his  greatness  by  her  littleness ; 
She  made  a  languorous  lover  of  a  king, 
And  silenced  war-cries  on  commanding  lips — 
With  honeyed  kisses ;  made  her  woman's  arms 
Preferred  to  armor,  and  her  couch  to  tents, 
Until  the  kingdom,  with  no  guiding  hand, 
Plunged  down  to  ruin." 

Ahasueras 

Thou  wouldst  have  me  go — 
So  soon  thy  heart  hath  wearied  ? 

Esther 

My  heart  is  bursting  with  its  love  for  thee ! 
Canst  thou  not  feel  its  fervor  ?    But  great  men 
Need  wiser  guidance  than  a  woman's  heart. 
My  pride  in  thee  is  equal  to  my  love, 
And  I  would  have  thee  greater  than  thou  art — 
Aye,  greater  than  all  other  men  on  earth — 
Though  forced  long  years  to  feed  my  hungry  heart 
On  food  of  memories  and  wine  of  tears, 
Wert  thou  but  winning  glory  and  renown. 

Ahasueras 

Thou  art  most  noble,  Esther ;  thou  art  fit 
To  be  the  consort  of  a  king  of  kings. 


56  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

But  I  have  chewed  upon  ambition's  husks 

And  starved  for  love  through  all  my  manhood's  years ; 

And  now  the  mighty  gods  have  seen  it  fit 

To  spread  love's  banquet  and  to  name  thee  host, 

May  I  not  feast  my  fill  ?    O  Esther,  take 

The  tempting  nectar  of  those  lips  away 

And  give  me  wine  to  rouse  the  brute  in  me, 

To  make  me  thirst  for  blood  instead  of  love ! 

Wine!  Wine!  I  say! 

Esther 

Ahasueras,  wait ! 

Methinks  good  music  is  wine  turned  to  sound. 
Here  comes  thy  minstrel  with  an  offering 
Pressed  from  the  ripened  fruit  of  my  fond  heart. 
Mine  own  the  words  and  mine  the  melody 
And  may  it  linger  longer  in  thine  ear 
Than  on  thy  lip  would  stay  the  taste  of  wine. 
Sing  on ! 

Minstrel 

When  from  the  field  returning, 
Love  is  a  warrior's  yearning, 
Love  in  his  heart  is  burning, 

Love  is  his  dream. 
Talk  not  to  him  of  glory, 
Speak  not  of  faces  gory, 
Sing  of  love's  tender  story, 

Make  it  thy  theme. 
Sing  of  his  lady's  tresses, 
Sing  of  the  smile  that  blesses, 
Sing  of  the  sweet  caresses, 

And  yet  again 
Sing  of  fair  children's  faces, 


HONEYMOON  SCENE  57 

Sing  of  the  dear  home  graces, 
Sing  till  the  vacant  places, 

Ring  with  thy  strain. 
Yet  as  the  days  go  speeding, 
Shall  he  arise  unheeding 
Love  songs  or  words  of  pleading, 

Strong  in  his  might! 
Helmet  and  armor  wearing, 
Hies  he  to  deeds  of  daring, 
Forth  to  the  battle  faring, 

Back  to  the  fight. 
Sing  now  of  ranks  contending, 
Sing  of  loud  voices  blending, 
Sing  of  great  warriors  sending 

Death  to  their  foes! 
Sing  of  war  missiles  humming, 
Strike  into  martial  drumming, 
Sing  of  great  victory  coming, 

As  forth  he  gqes. 
Back  to  the  battle  faring, 
Back  into  deeds  of  daring, 

Back  to  the  fight. 

Ahasueras 

No  less  a  lover  but  a  greater  man, 

A  better  warrior  and  a  nobler  king, 

I  will  be  from  this  hour  for  thy  dear  sake. 


58  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  COST 

God  finished  woman  in  the  twilight  hour 

And  said,  "To-morro\v  thou  shalt  find  thy  place : 

Man's  complement,  the  mother  of  the  race— 

With  love  the  motive  power — 

The  one  compelling  power." 

All  night  she  dreamed  and  wondered.    With  the  light 
Her  lover  came — and  then  she  understood 
The  purpose  of  her  being.    Life  was  good 

And  all  the  world  seemed  right — 

And  nothing  was,  but  right. 

She  had  no  wish  for  any  wider  sway : 
By  all  the  questions  of  the  world  unvexed, 
Supremely  loving  and  superbly  sexed, 

She  passed  upon  her  way — 

Her  feminine  fair  way. 

But  God  neglected,  when  He  fashioned  man, 
To  fuse  the  molten  splendor  of  his  mind 
With  that  sixth  sense  He  gave  to  womankind. 

And  so  He  marred  His  plan — 

Aye,  marred  His  own  great  plan. 

She  asked  so  little,  and  so  much  she  gave, 

That  man  grew  selfish :  and  she  soon  became, 

To  God's  great  sorrow  and  the  whole  world's  shame, 

Man's  sweet  and  patient  slave — 

His  uncomplaining  slave. 


THE  COST  59 

Yet  in  the  nights  (oh!  nights  so  dark  and  long) 
She  clasped  her  little  children  to  her  breast 
And  wept.    And  in  her  anguish  of  unrest 

She  thought  upon  her  wrong ; 

She  knew  how  great  her  wrong. 

And  one  sad  hour,  she  said  unto  her  heart, 
"Since  thou  art  cause  of  all  my  bitter  pain, 
I  bid  thee  abdicate  the  throne :  let  brain 

Rule  now,  and  do  his  part — 

His  masterful  strong  part." 

She  wept  no  more.    By  new  ambition  stirred 
Her  ways  led  out,  to  regions  strange  and  vast. 
Men  stood  aside  and  watched,  dismayed,  aghast, 

And  all  the  world  demurred — 

Misjudged  her,  and  demurred. 

Still  on  and  up,  from  sphere  to  widening  sphere, 
Till  thorny  paths  bloomed  with  the  rose  of  fame. 
Who  once  demurred,  now  followed  with  acclaim : 

The  hiss  died  in  the  cheer — 

The  loud  applauding  cheer. 

She  stood  triumphant  in  that  radiant  hour, 

Man's  mental  equal,  and  competitor. 

But  ah !  the  cost !  from  out  the  heart  of  her 

Had  gone  love's  motive  power — 

Love's  all-compelling  power. 


60  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


RETROSPECTION 

I  look  down  the  lengthening  distance 
Far  back  to  youth's  valley  of  hope. 

How  strange  seemed  the  ways  of  existence, 
How  infinite  life  and  its  scope. 

What  dreams,  what  ambitions  came  thronging 

To  people  a  world  of  my  own ! 
How  the  heart  in  my  bosom  was  longing, 

For  pleasures  and  places  unknown. 

But  the  hill  tops  of  pleasure  and  beauty, 
Were  covered  with  mist  at  the  dawn ; 

And  only  the  rugged  road  Duty 

Shone  clear,  as  my  feet  wandered  on. 

I  loved  not  the  path  and  its  leading, 

I  hated  the  rocks  and  the  dust ; 
But  a  Voice  from  the  Silence  was  pleading, 

It  spoke  but  one  syllable — "Trust." 

I  saw  as  the  morning  grew  older 
The  fair  flowered  hills  of  delight, 

And  the  feet  of  my  comrades  grew  bolder ; 
They  hurried  away  from  my  sight. 

And  when  on  the  pathway  I  faltered, 

And  when  I  rebelled  at  my  fate, 
The  Voice,  with  assurance  unaltered, 

Again  spoke  one  syllable — "Wait." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE  61 

Along  the  hard  highway  I  traveled, 
And  saw,  with  dim  vision,  how  soon 

The  morning's  gold  locks  were  unraveled, 
By  fingers  of  amorous  noon. 

A  turn  in  the  pathway  of  duty — 

I  stood  in  the  perfect  day's  prime, 
Close,  close  to  the  hillside  of  beauty ; 

The  Voice  from  the  Silence  said,  "Climb." 

The  road  to  the  Beautiful  Regions 
Lies  ever  through  Duty's  hard  way. 

Oh,  ye  who  go  searching  in  legions, 
Know  this  and  be  patient  to-day. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  LIFE 

All  wondering  and  eager  eyed,  within  her  portico, 

I  made  my  plea  to  Hostess  Life,  one  morning  long  ago. 

"Pray,  show  me  this  great  house  of  thine,  nor  close  a 

single  door; 
But  let  me  wander  where  I  will  and  climb  from  floor  to 

floor! 
For  many  rooms,  and  curious  things,  and  treasures 

great  and  small, 
Within  your  spacious  mansion  lie,  and  I  would  see  them 

all." 
Then  Hostess  Life  turned  silently,  her  searching  gaze 

on  me, 
And  with  no  woi  d,  she  reached  her  hand  and  offered  up 

the  key. 
It  opened  first  the  door  of  Hope,  and  long  I  lingered 

there, 


62  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Until  I  spied  the  room  of  Dreams,  just  higher  by  a  stair. 
And  then  a  door  whereon  the  one  word  "Happiness" 

was  writ, 

But  when  I  tried  the  little  key,  I  could  not  make  it  fit. 
It  turned  the  lock  of  Pleasure's  room  where  first  all 

seemed  so  bright, 

But  after  I  had  stayed  awhile,  it  somehow  lost  its  light. 
And  wandering  down  a  lonely  hall,  I  came  upon  a  room 
Marked  "Duty,"  and  I  entered  it,  to  lose  myself  in 

gloom. 

Along  the  shadowy  halls  I  groped  my  weary  way  about 
And  found  that  from  dull  Duty's  room  a  door  of  Toil 

led  out. 

It  led  out  to  another  door,  whereon  a  crimson  stain 
Made  sullenly  against  the  dark,  these  words :     "The 

Room  of  Pain." 
But,  oh,  the  light !  the  light !  the  light !  that  spilled  down 

from  above, 
And  upward  wound  the  stairs  of  Faith,  right  to  the 

tower  of  Love. 
And  when  I  came  forth  from  that  place,  I  tried  the  little 

key, 
And,  lo !  the  door  of  Happiness  swung  open,  wide  and 

free. 


THE   VOICE 


THE  VOICE 

I  dreamed  a  Voice,  of  one  God-authorized, 

Cried  loudly  thro'  the  world,  "Disarm !  Disarm !" 

And  there  was  consternation  in  the  camps ; 

And  men  who  strutted  under  braid  and  lace 

Beat  on  their  medaled  breasts,  and  wailed,  "Undone !' 

The  word  was  echoed  from  a  thousand  hills, 

And  shop  and  mill,  and  factory  and  forge, 

Where  throve  the  awful  industries  of  death, 

Hushed  into  silence.    Scrawled  upon  the  doors, 

The  passer  read,  "Peace  bids  her  children  starve." 

But  foolish  women  clasped  their  little  sons 

And  wept  for  joy,  not  reasoning  like  men. 

Again  the  Voice  commanded :  "Now  go  forth 
And  build  a  world  for  Progress  and  for  Peace. 
This  work  has  waited  since  the  earth  was  shaped ; 
But  men  were  fighting,  and  they  could  not  toil. 
The  needs  of  life  outnumber  needs  of  death. 
Leave  death  with  God.    Go  forth,  I  say,  and  build." 

And  then  a  sudden,  comprehensive  joy 
Shone  in  the  eyes  of  men ;  and  one  who  thought 
Only  of  conquests  and  of  victories 
Woke  from  his  gloomy  reverie  and  cried, 
"Aye,  come  and  build !   I  challenge  all  to  try. 
And  I  will  make  a  world  more  beautiful 
Than  Eden  was  before  the  serpent  came." 


64  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

And  like  a  running  flame  on  western  wilds, 
Ambition  spread  from  mind  to  listening  mind, 
And  lo !  the  looms  were  busy  once  again, 
And  all  the  earth  resounded  with  men's  toil. 

Vast  palaces  of  Science  graced  the  world ; 
Their  banquet  tables  spread  with  feasts  of  truth 
For  all  who  hungered.    Music  kissed  the  air, 
Once  rent  with  boom  of  cannons.    Statues  gleamed 
From  wooded  ways,  where  ambushed  armies  hid 
In  times  of  old.    The  sea  and  air  were  gay 
With  shining  sails  that  soared  from  land  to  land. 
A  universal  language  of  the  world 
Made  nations  kin,  and  poverty  was  known 
But  as  a  word  marked  "obsolete,"  like  war. 
The  arts  were  kindled  with  celestial  fire ; 
New  poets  sang  so  Homer's  fame  grew  dim ; 
And  brush  and  chisel  gave  the  wondering  race 
Sublimer  treasures  than  old  Greece  displayed. 
Men  differed  still ;  fierce  argument  arose, 
For  men  are  human  in  this  human  sphere ; 
But  unarmed  Arbitration  stood  between 
And  Reason  settled  in  a  hundred  hours 
What  War  disputed  for  a  hundred  years. 

Oh,  that  a  Voice,  of  one  God-authorized 
Might  cry  to  all  mankind,  Disarm !  Disarm ! 


GOD'S  ANSWER  65 


GOD'S  ANSWER 

Once  in  a  time  of  trouble  and  of  care 

I  dreamed  I  talked  with  God  about  my  pain ; 

With  sleepland  courage,  daring  to  complain 
Of  what  I  deemed  ungracious  and  unfair. 
"Lord,  I  have  groveled  on  my  knees  in  prayer 

Hour  after  hour,"  I  cried ;  "yet  all  in  vain ; 

No  hand  leads  up  to  heights  I  would  attain, 
No  path  is  shown  me  out  of  my  despair." 

Then  answered  God :  "Three  things  I  gave  to  thee — 
Clear  brain,  brave  will,  and  strength  of  mind  and 

heart, 

All  implements  divine,  to  shape  the  way. 
Why  shift  the  burden  of  thy  toil  on  Me? 
Till  to  the  utmost  he  has  done  his  part 

With  all  his  might,  let  no  man  dare  to  pray." 


POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  EDICT  OF  THE  SEX 

Two  thousand  years  had  passed  since  Christ  was  born, 

When  suddenly  there  rose  a  mighty  host 

Of  women,  sweeping  to  a  central  goal 

As  many  rivers  sweep  on  to  the  sea. 

They  came  from  mountains,  valleys,  and  from  coasts, 

And  from  all  lands,  all  nations,  and  all  ranks, 

Speaking  all  languages,  but  thinking  one. 

And  that  one  language — Peace. 

"Listen,"  they  said, 

And  straightway  was  there  silence  on  the  earth, 
For  men  were  dumb  with  wonder  and  surprise. 
"Listen,  O  mighty  masters  of  the  world, 
And  hear  the  edict  of  all  womankind : 
Since  Christ  his  new  commandment  gave  to  men, 
Love  one  another,  full  two  thousand  years 
Have  passed  away,  yet  earth  is  red  with  blood. 
The  strong  male  rulers  of  the  world  proclaim 
Their  weakness,  when  we  ask  that  war  shall  cease. 
Now  will  the  poor  weak  women  of  the  world 
Proclaim  their  strength,  and  say  that  war  shall  end. 
Hear,  then,  our  edict :    Never  from  this  day 
Will  any  woman  on  the  crust  of  earth 
Mother  a  warrior.    We  have  sworn  the  oath 
And  will  go  barren  to  the  waiting  tomb 
Rather  than  breed  strong  sons  at  war's  behest, 
Or  bring  fair  daughters  into  life,  to  bear 
The  pains  of  travail,  for  no  end  but  war. 


THE  EDICT  OF  THE  SEX  67 

Aye !  let  the  race  die  out  for  lack  of  babes : 
Better  a  dying  race  than  endless  wars ! 
Better  a  silent  world  than  noise  of  guns 
And  clash  of  armies. 

"Long  we  asked  for  peace, 
And  oft  you  promised — but  to  fight  again. 
At  last  you  told  us,  war  must  ever  be 
While  men  existed,  laughing  at  our  plea 
For  the  disarmament  of  all  mankind. 
Then  in  our  hearts  flamed  such  a  mad  desire 
For  peace  on  earth,  as  lights  the  world  at  times 
With  some  great  conflagration ;  and  it  spread 
From  distant  land  to  land,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Until  all  women  thought  as  with  one  mind 
And  spoke  as  with  one  voice ;  and  now  behold ! 
The  great  Crusading  Syndicate  of  Peace, 
Filling  all  space  with  one  supreme  resolve. 
Give  us,  O  men,  your  word  that  war  shall  end : 
Disarm  the  world,  and  we  will  give  you  sons — 
Sons  to  construct,  and  daughters  to  adorn 
A  beautiful  new  earth,  where  there  shall  be 
Fewer  and  finer  people,  opulence 
And  opportunity  and  peace  for  all. 
Until  you  promise  peace  no  shrill  birth-cry 
Shall  sound  again  upon  the  aeing  earth. 
We  wait  your  answer." 

And  the  world  was  still 
While  men  considered. 


68  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  WORLD-CHILD 

At  times  I  am  the  mother  of  the  world ; 

And  mine  seem  all  its  sorrows,  and  its  fears. 
That  rose,  which  in  each  mother-heart  is  curled, 

The  rose  of  pity,  opens  with  my  tears, 
And,  waking  in  the  night,  I  lie  and  hark 

To  the  lone  sobbing,  and  the  wild  alarms, 
Of  my  World-child,  a  wailing  in  the  dark : 

The  child  I  fain  would  shelter  in  my  arms. 
I  call  to  it  (as  from  another  room 

A  mother  calls,  what  time  she  cannot  go)  : 
"Sleep  well,  dear  world ;  Love  hides  behind  this  gloom. 

There  is  no  need  for  wakefulness  or  woe, 
The  long,  long  night  is  almost  past  and  gone, 
The  day  is  near."    And  yet  the  world  weeps  on. 

Again  I  follow  it,  throughout  the  day. 

With  anxious  eyes  I  see  it  trip  and  fall, 
And  hurt  itself  in  many  a  foolish  way : 

Childlike,  unheeding  warning  word  or  call. 
I  see  it  grasp,  and  grasping,  break  the  toys 

It  cried  to  own,  then  toss  them  on  the  floor 
And,  breathless,  hurry  after  fancied  joys 

That  cease  to  please,  when  added  to  its  store. 
I  see  the  lacerations  on  its  hands, 

Made  by  forbidden  tools ;  but  when  it  weeps, 
I  also  weep,  as  one  who  understands ; 

And  having  been  a  child,  the  memory  keeps. 
Ah,  my  poor  world,  however  wrong  thy  part, 
Still  is  there  pity  in  my  mother-heart. 


THE   GOAL 


THE  GOAL 

All  roads  that  lead  to  God  are  good ; 

What  matters  it,  your  faith,  or  mine; 

Both  center  at  the  goal  divine 
Of  love's  eternal  Brotherhood. 

The  kindly  life  in  house  or  street ; 

The  life  of  prayer,  and  mystic  rite ; 

The  student's  search  for  truth  and  light ; 
These  paths  at  one  great  junction  meet. 

Before  the  oldest  book  was  writ, 
Full  many  a  prehistoric  soul 
Arrived  at  this  unchanging  goal, 

Through  changeless  love,  that  led  to  it. 

What  matters  that  one  found  his  Christ 

In  rising  sun,  or  burning  fire ; 

If  faith  within  him  did  not  tire, 
His  longing  for  the  truth  sufficed. 

Before  our  "Christian"  hell  was  brought 
To  edify  a  modern  world, 
Full  many  a  hate-filled  soul  was  hurled 
In  lakes  of  fire  by  its  own  thought. 

A  thousand  creeds  have  come  and  gone ; 

But  what  is  that  to  you  or  me  ? 

Creeds  are  but  branches  of  a  tree, 
The  root  of  love  lives  on  and  on. 


70  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Though  branch  by  branch  proves  withered  wood, 
The  root  is  warm  with  precious  wine ; 
Then  keep  your  faith,  and  leave  me  mine ; 

'All  roads  that  lead  to  God  are  good. 


ON  SEEING  "THE  HOUSE  OF  JULIA" 
AT  HERCULANEUM 

Not  great  Vesuvius,  in  all  his  ire, 

Nor  all  the  centuries,  could  hide  your  shame. 

There  is  the  little  window  where  you  came, 
With  eyes  that  woke  the  demon  of  desire, 
And  lips  like  rose  leaves,  fashioned  out  of  fire ; 

And  from  the  lava  leaps  the  molten  flame 

Of  your  old  sins.  The  walls  cry  out  your  name — 
Your  face  seems  rising  from  the  funeral  pyre. 

There  must  have  dwelt,  within  your  fated  town, 
Full  many  a  virtuous  dame,  and  noble  wife 

Who  made  your  beauty  seem  as  star  to  sun ; 
How  strange  the  centuries  have  handed  down 
Your  name,  fair  Julia,  of  immoral  life, 
And  left  the  others  to  oblivion. 


A  PRAYER  71 


A  PRAYER 

Master  of  sweet  and  loving  lore, 

Give  us  the  open  mind 
To  know  religion  means  no  more, 

No  less,  than  being  kind. 

Give  us  the  comprehensive  sight 
That  sees  another's  need; 

And  let  our  aim  to  set  things  right 
Prove  God  inspired  our  creed. 

Give  us  the  soul  to  know  our  kin 
That  dwell  in  flock  and  herd, 

The  voice  to  fight  man's  shameful  sin 
Against  the  beast  and  bird. 

Give  us  a  heart  with  love  so  fraught 

For  all  created  things, 
That  even  our  unspoken  thought 

Bears  healing  on  its  wings. 

Give  us  religion  that  will  cope 

With  life's  colossal  woes, 
And  turn  a  radiant  face  of  hope 

On  troops  of  pigmy  foes. 

Give  us  the  mastery  of  our  fate 
In  thoughts  so  warm  and  white, 

They  stamp  upon  the  brows  of  hate 
Love's  glorious  seal  of  light. 


72  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Give  us  the  strong,  courageous  faith 
That  makes  of  pain  a  friend, 

And  calls  the  secret  word  of  death 
"Beginning,"  and  not  "end." 


WHAT  IS  RIGHT  LIVING? 

What  is  right  living  ?    Just  to  do  your  best 
When  worst  seems  easier.    To  bear  the  ills 
Of  daily  life  with  patient  cheerfulness 
Nor  waste  dear  time  recounting  them. 

To  talk 

Of  hopeful  things  when  doubt  is  in  the  air. 
To  count  your  blessings  often,  giving  thanks, 
And  to  accept  your  sorrows  silently, 
Nor  question  why  you  suffer.    To  accept 
The  whole  of  life  as  one  perfected  plan, 
And  welcome  each  event  as  part  of  it. 
To  work,  and  love  your  work ;  to  trust,  to  pray 
For  larger  usefulness  and  clearer  sight. 
This  is  right  living,  pleasing  in  God's  eyes, 
Though  you  be  heathen,  heretic  or  Jew. 


JUSTICE  73 


JUSTICE 

However  inexplicable  may  seem 

Event  and  circumstance  upon  this  earth, 
Though  favors  fall  on  those  whom  none  esteem, 

And  insult  and  indifference  greet  worth ; 
Though  poverty  repays  the  life  of  toil, 

And  riches  spring  where  idle  feet  have  trod, 
And  storms  lay  waste  the  patiently  tilled  soil — 

Yet  Justice  sways  the  universe  of  God. 

As  undisturbed  the  stately  stars  remain 
Beyond  the  glare  of  day's  obscuring  light, 

So  Justice  dwells,  though  mortal  eyes  in  vain 
Seek  it  persistently  by  reason's  sight. 

But  when,  once  freed,  the  illumined  soul  looks  out. 

Its  cry  will  be,  "O  God,  how  could  I  doubt !" 


74  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


TIME'S  GAZE 

Time  looked  me  in  the  eyes  while  passing  by 
The  milestone  of  the  year.    That  piercing  gaze 
Was  both  an  accusation  and  reproach. 
No  speech  was  needed.    In  a  sorrowing  look 
More  meaning  lies  than  in  complaining  words, 
And  silence  hurts  as  keenly  as  reproof. 

Oh,  opulent,  kind  giver  of  rich  hours, 

How  have  I  used  thy  benefits !    As  babes 

Unstring  a  necklace,  laughing  at  the  sound 

Of  priceless  jewels  dropping  one  by  one, 

So  have  I  laughed  while  precious  moments  rolled 

Into  the  hidden  corners  of  the  past. 

And  I  have  let  large  opportunities 

For  high  endeavor  move  unheeded  by, 

While  little  joys  and  cares  absorbed  my  strength. 

And  yet,  dear  Time,  set  to  my  credit  this : 
Not  one  white  hour  have  I  made  black  with  hate, 
Nor  wished  one  living  creature  aught  but  good. 

Be  patient  with  me.    Though  the  sun  slants  west, 
The  day  has  not  yet  finished,  and  I  feel 
Necessity  for  action  and  resolve 
Bear  in  upon  my  consciousness.    I  know 
The  earth's  eternal  need  of  earnest  souls, 
And  the  great  hunger  of  the  world  for  Love. 
I  know  the  goal  to  high  achievement  lies 
Through  the  dull  pathway  of  self-conquest  first ; 


THE  TWO  AGES  75 

And  on  the  stairs  of  little  duties  done 
We  climb  to  joys  that  stand  thy  test.    O  Time, 
Be  patient  with  me,  and  another  day, 
Perchance,  in  passing  by,  thine  eyes  may  smile. 


THE  TWO  AGES 

On  great  cathedral  windows  I  have  seen 
A  summer  sunset  swoon  and  sink  away, 
Lost  in  the  splendors  of  immortal  art. 
Angels  and  saints  and  all  the  heavenly  hosts, 
With  smiles  undimmed  by  half  a  thousand  years, 
From  wall  and  niche  have  met  my  lifted  gaze. 
Sculpture  and  carving  and  illumined  page, 
And  the  fair,  lofty  dreams  of  architects, 
That  speak  of  beauty  to  the  centuries — 
All  these  have  fed  me  with  divine  repasts. 
Yet  in  my  mouth  is  left  a  bitter  taste, 
The  taste  of  blood  that  stained  that  age  of  art. 

Those  glorious  windows  shine  upon  the  black 

And  hideous  structure  of  the  guillotine : 

Beside  the  haloed  countenance  of  saints 

There  hangs  the  multiple  and  knotted  lash. 

The  Christ  of  love,  benign  and  beautiful, 

Looks  at  the  torture-rack,  by  hate  conceived 

And  bigotry  sustained.    The  prison  cell, 

With  blood-stained  walls,  where  starving  men  went 

mad, 
Lies  under  turrets  matchless  in  their  grace. 


76  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

God,  what  an  age !  How  was  it  that  You  let 

Colossal  genius  and  colossal  crime 

Walk  for  a  hundred  years  across  the  earth, 

Like  giant  twins  ?    How  was  it  that  the  minds, 

Conceiving  such  vast  beauty  for  the  world, 

And  such  large  hopes  of  heaven,  could  entertain 

Such  hellish  projects  for  humanity? 

How  could  the  hand  that  with  consummate  skill 

And  loving  patience  limned  the  luminous  page, 

Drop  pen  and  brush,  and  seize  the  branding-rod, 

To  scourge  a  brother  for  his  differing  faith  ? 

Not  great  this  age,  in  beauty  or  in  art. 
Little  is  wrought  to-day  that  shall  endure, 
For  earth's  adornment,  through  long  centuries. 
Not  ours  the  fervid  worship  of  a  God 
That  wastes  its  splendid  opulence  on  glass, 
Leaving  but  hate,  to  give  its  mortal  kin. 
Yet  great  this  age :  its  mighty  work  is  man 
Knowing  himself,  the  universal  life. 
And  great  our  faith,  which  shows  itself  in  works 
For  human  freedom  and  for  racial  good. 
The  true  religion  lies  in  being  kind. 
No  age  is  greater  than  its  faith  is  broad. 
Through  liberty  and  love  men  climb  to  God. 


LOVE,   TIME  AND    WILL  77 


LOVE,  TIME,  AND  WILL 

A  soul  immortal,  Time,  God  everywhere, 

Without,  within — how  can  a  heart  despair, 

Or  talk  of  failure,  obstacles,  and  doubt  ? 

(What  proofs  of  God?    The  little  seeds  that  sprout, 

Life,  and  the  solar  system,  and  their  laws. 

Nature?    Ah,  yes ;  but  what  was  Nature's  cause ?) 

All  mighty  words  are  short.    God,  life,  and  death, 
War,  peace,  and  truth,  are  uttered  in  a  breath. 
And  briefly  said  are  love,  and  will,  and  time ; 
Yet  in  them  lies  a  majesty  sublime. 

Love  is  the  vast  constructive  power  of  space ; 
Time  is  the  hour  which  calls  it  into  place ; 
Will  is  the  means  of  using  time  and  love, 
And  bringing  forth  the  heart's  desires  thereof. 

The  way  is  love,  the  time  is  now,  and  will 
The  patient  method.    Let  this  knowledge  fill 
Thy  consciousness,  and  fate  and  circumstance. 
Environment,  and  all  the  ills  of  chance 
Must  yield  before  the  concentrated  might 
Of  those  three  words,  as  shadows  yield  to  light. 

Go  charge  thyself  with  love ;  be  infinite 
And  opulent  with  thy  large  use  of  it : 
'Tis  from  free  sowing  that  full  harvest  springs ; 
Love  God,  and  life  and  all  created  things. 


78  .POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Learn  time's  great,  value;  to  this  mandate  bow, 
The  hour  of  opportunity  is  Now. 
And  from  thy  will,  as  from  a  well-strung  bow, 
Let  the  swift  arrows  of  thy  wishes  go. 
Though  sent  into  the  distance  and  the  dark, 
The  dawn  shall  prove  thy  arrows  hit  the  mark. 


THE  WORKER  AND  THE  WORK 

In  what  I  do  I  note  the  marring  flaw, 
The  imperfections  of  the  work  I  see ; 
Nor  am  I  one  who  rather  do  than  be, 

Since  its  reversal  is  Creation's  law. 


Nay,  since  there  lies  a  better  and  a  worse, 
A  lesser  and  a  larger,  in  men's  view, 
I  would  be  better  than  the  thing  I  do, 

As  God  is  greater  than  his  universe. 

He  shaped  himself  before  he  shaped  one  world : 
A  million  eons,  toiling  day  and  night, 
He  built  himself  to  majesty  and  might, 

Before  the  planets  into  space  were  hurled. 

And  when  Creation's  early  work  was  done, 
What  crude  beginnings  out  of  chaos  came — 
A  formless  nebula,  a  wavering  flame, 

An  errant  comet,  a  voracious  sun. 


THE   WORKER   AND    THE   WORK          79 

And,  still  unable  to  perfect  his  plan, 

What  awful  creatures  at  his  touch  found  birth — 
Those  protoplasmic  monsters  of  the  earth, 

That  owned  the  world  before  He  fashioned  Man. 

And  now,  behold  the  poor  unfinished  state 
Of  this,  his  latest  masterpiece !    Then  why, 
Seeing  the  flaws  in  my  own  work,  should  I 

Be  troubled  that  no  voice  proclaims  it  great  ? 

Before  me  lie  the  cycling  rounds  of  years ; ' 
With  this  small  earth  will  die  the  thing  I  do : 
The  thing  I  am,  goes  journeying  onward  through 

A  million  lives,  upon  a  million  spheres. 

My  work  I  build,  as  best  I  can  and  may, 
Knowing  all  mortal  effort  ends  in  dust. 
I  build  myself,  not  as  I  may,  but  must, 

Knowing,  or  good,  or  ill,  that  self  must  stay. 

Along  the  ages,  out,  and  on,  afar, 

Its  .journey  leads,  and  must  perforce  be  made. 

Likewise  its  choice,  with  things  of  shame  and  shade, 
Or  up  the  path  of  light,  from  star  to  star. 

When  all  these  solar  systems  shall  disperse, 
Perchance  this  labor,  and  this  self-control, 
May  find  reward ;  and  my  completed  soul 

Will  fling  in  space,  a  little  universe. 


80  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


ART  THOU  ALIVE? 

Art  thou  alive  ?    Nay,  not  too  soon  reply, 
Tho'  hand,  and  foot,  and  lip,  and  ear,  and  eye, 
Respond,  and  do  thy  bidding ;  yet  may  be 
Grim  death  has  done  his  direst  work  with  thee. 
Life,  as  God  gives  it,  is  a  thing  apart 
From  active  body  and  from  beating  heart. 
It  is  the  vital  spark,  the  unseen  fire, 
That  moves  the  mind  to  reason  and  aspire  ; 
It  is  the  force  that  bids  emotion  roll, 
In  mighty  billows  from  the  surging  soul. 

It  is  the  light  that  grows  from  hour  to  hour, 
And  floods  the  brain  with  consciousness  of  power ; 
It  is  the  spirit  dominating  all, 
And  reaching  God  with  its  imperious  call, 
Until  the  shining  glory  of  His  face 
Illuminates  each  sorrowful,  dark  place; 
It  is  the  truth  that  sets  the  bondsman  free, 
Knowing  he  will  be  what  he  wills  to  be. 
With  its  unburied  dead  the  earth  is  sad. 
Art  thou  alive?    Proclaim  it  and  be  glad. 
Perchance  the  dead  may  hear  thee  and  arise, 
Knowing  they  live,  and  here  is  Paradise. 


TO-DAY  81 


TO-DAY 

I  love  this  age  of  energy  and  force, 

Expectantly  I  greet  each  pregnant  hour ; 
Emerging  from  the  all-creative  source, 

Supreme  with  promise,  imminent  with  power. 
The  strident  whistle  and  the  clanging  bell, 

The  noise  of  gongs,  the  rush  of  motored  things 
Are  but  the  prophet  voices  which  foretell 

A  time  when  thought  may  use  unfettered  wings. 

Too  long  the  drudgery  of  earth  has  been 

A  barrier  'twixt  man  and  his  own  mind. 
Remove  the  stone,  and  lo !  the  Christ  within ; 

For  He  is  there,  and  who  so  seeks  shall  find. 
The  Great  Inventor  is  the  Modern  Priest. 

He  paves  the  pathway  to  a  higher  goal. 
Once  from  the  grind  of  endless  toil  released 

Man  will  explore  the  kingdom  of  his  soul. 

And  all  this  restless  rush,  this  strain  and  strife, 

This  noise  and  glare  is  but  the  fanfarade 
That  ushers  in  the  more  majestic  life 

Where  faith  shall  walk  with  science,  unafraid. 
I  feel  the  strong  vibrations  of  the  earth, 

I  sense  the  coming  of  an  hour  sublime, 
And  bless  the  star  that  watched  above  my  birth 

And  let  me  live  in  this  important  time. 


82  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  LADDER 

Unto  each  mortal  who  comes  to  earth 

A  ladder  is  given  by  God,  at  birth, 

And  up  this  ladder  the  soul  must  go, 

Step  by  step,  from  the  valley  below ; 

Step  by  step,  to  the  center  of  space, 

On  this  ladder  of  lives,  to  the  Starting  Place. 

In  time  departed  (which  yet  endures) 

I  shaped  my  ladder,  and  you  shaped  yours. 

Whatever  they  are — they  are  what  we  made : 

A  ladder  of  light,  or  a  ladder  of  shade, 

A  ladder  of  love,  or  a  hateful  thing, 

A  ladder  of  strength,  or  a  wavering  string. 

A  ladder  of  gold,  or  a  ladder  of  straw, 

Each  is  the  ladder  of  righteous  law. 

We  flung  them  away  at  the  call  of  death, 
We  took  them  again  with  the  next  life  breath. 
For  a  keeper  stands  by  the  great  birth  gates; 
As  each  soul  passes,  its  ladder  waits. 

Though  mine  be  narrow,  and  yours  be  broad, 
On  my  ladder  alone  can  I  climb  to  God. 
On  your  ladder  alone  can  your  feet  ascend, 
For  none  may  borrow,  and  none  may  lend. 

If  toil  and  trouble  and  pain  are  found, 
Twisted  and  corded,  to  form  each  round, 


WHO  IS  A   CHRISTIAN?  83 

If  rusted  iron  or  mouldering  wood 
Is  the  fragile  frame,  you  must  make  it  good. 
You  must  build  it  over  and  fashion  it  strong, 
Though  the  task  be  hard  as  your  life  is  long; 
For  up  this  ladder  the  pathway  leads 
To  earthly  pleasures  and  spirit  needs ; 
And  all  that  may  come  in  another  way 
Shall  be  but  illusion,  and  will  not  stay. 

In  useless  effort,  then,  waste  no  time ; 
Rebuild  your  ladder,  and  climb  and  climb. 


WHO  IS  A  CHRISTIAN? 

Who  is  a  Christian  in  this  Christian  land 
Of  many  churches  and  of  lofty  spires  ? 
Not  he  who  sits  in  soft  upholstered  pews 
Bought  by  the  profits  of  unholy  greed, 
And  looks  devotion,  while  he  thinks  of  gain. 
Not  he  who  sends  petitions  from  the  lips 
That  lie  to-morrow  in  the  street  and  mart. 
Not  he  who  fattens  on  another's  toil, 
And  flings  his  unearned  riches  to  the  poor, 
Or  aids  the  heathen  with  a  lessened  wage, 
And  builds  cathedrals  with  an  increased  rent. 

Christ,  with  Thy  great,  sweet,  simple  creed  of  love, 
How  must  Thou  weary  of  Earth's  "Christian"  clans, 
Who  preach  salvation  through  Thy  saving  blood 
While  planning  slaughter  of  their  fellow  men. 


84  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Who  is  a  Christian?    It  is  one  whose  life 
Is  built  on  love,  on  kindness  and  on  faith ; 
Who  holds  his  brother  as  his  other  self ; 
Who  toils  for  justice,  equity  and  PEACE, 
And  hides  no  aim  or  purpose  in  his  heart 
That  will  not  chord  with  universal  good. 

Though  he  be  pagan,  heretic  or  Jew, 

That  man  is  Christian  and  beloved  of  Christ. 


THE  GOAL 

All  your  wonderful  inventions, 
All  your  houses  vast  and  tall, 

All  your  great  gun-fronted  vessels, 
Every  fort  and  every  wall, 

With  the  passing  of  the  ages, 

They  shall  pass  and  they  shall  fall. 

As  you  sit  among  the  idols 
That  your  avarice  gave  birth, 

As  you  count  the  hoarded  treasures 
That  you  think  of  priceless  worth, 

Time  is  digging  tombs  to  hide  them 
In  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 

There  shall  come  a  great  convulsion 

Or  a  rushing  tidal  wave, 
Or  a  sound  of  mighty  thunders 

From  a  subterranean  cave, 
And  a  boasting  world's  possessions 

Shall  be  buried  in  one  grave. 


THE  GOAL  86 

From  the  Centuries  of  Silence 

We  are  bringing  back  again 
Buried  vase  and  bust  and  column 

And  the  gods  they  worshiped  then, 
In  the  strange  unmentioned  cities 

Built  by  prehistoric  men. 

Did  they  steal,  and  lie,  and  slaughter  ? 

Did  they  steep  their  souls  in  shame  ? 
Did  they  sell  eternal  virtues 

Just  to  win  a  passing  fame? 
Did  they  give  the  gold  of  honor 

For  the  tinsel  of  a  name  ? 

We  are  hurrying  all  together 

Toward  the  silence  and  the  night ; 

There  is  nothing  worth  the  seeking 
But  the  sun-kissed  moral  height — 

There  is  nothing  worth  the  doing 
But  the  doing  of  the  right. 


86  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  SPUR 

I  asked  the  rock  beside  the  road  what  joy  existence  lent. 
It  answered,  "For  a  million  years  my  heart  has  been 
content." 

I  asked  the  truffle-seeking  swine,  as  rooting*  by  he  went, 
"What  is  the  keynote  of  your  life?"    He  grunted  out, 
"Content." 

I  asked  a  slave,  who  toiled  and  sang,  just  what  his  sing- 
ing meant. 

He  plodded  on  his  changeless  way,  and  said,  "I  am 
content." 

I  asked  a  plutocrat  of  greed,  on  what  his  thoughts 
were  bent. 

He  chinked  the  silver  in  his  purse,  and  said,  "I  am  con- 
tent." 

I  asked  the  mighty  forest  tree  from  whence  its  force 

was  sent. 

Its  thousand  branches  spoke  as  one,  and  said,  "Prom 
discontent." 

I  asked  the  message  speeding  on,  by  what  great  law 

was  rent 
God's  secret  from  the  waves  of  space.    It  said,  "From 

discontent." 


AWAKENED  87 

I  asked  the  marble,  where  the  works  of  God  and  man 

were  blent, 
What  brought  the  statue  from  the  block.    It  answered 

"Discontent." 

I  asked  an  Angel,  looking  down  on  earth  with  gaze 

intent, 
How  man  should  rise  to  larger  growth.     Quoth  he, 

"Through  discontent." 


AWAKENED! 

Slowly  the  People  waken ;  they  have  been, 

Like  weary  soldiers,  sleeping  in  their  tents, 

While  traitors  tiptoed  through  the  silent  camp 

Intent  on  plunder.    Suddenly  a  sound — 

A  careless  movement  of  too  bold  a  thief — 

Starts  one  dull  sleeper ;  then  another  stirs, 

A  third  cries  out  a  warning,  and  at  last 

The  people  are  awake!    Oh,  when  as  one 

The  many  rise,  united  and  alert, 

With  Justice  for  their  motto,  they  reflect 

The  mighty  force  of  God's  Omnipotence. 

And  nothing  stands  before  them.    Lusty  Greed, 

Tyrannical  Corruption  long  in  power, 

And  smirking  Cant  (whose  right  hand  robs  and  slays 

So  that  the  left  may  dower  Church  and  School), 

Monopoly,  whose  mandate  took  from  Toil 

The  Mother  Earth,  that  Idleness  might  loll 

And  breed  the  Monster  of  Colossal  Wealth — 

All  these  must  fall  before  the  gathering  Force 


88  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Of  public  indignation.    That  old  strife 
Which  marks  the  progress  of  each  century, 
The  war  of  Right  with  Might,  is  on  once  more, 
And  shame  to  him  who  does  not  take  his  stand. 

This  is  the  weightiest  moment  of  all  time, 
And  on  the  issues  of  the  present  hour 
A  nation's  honor  and  a  country's  peace, 
A  People's  future,  aye,  a  World's,  depends. 

Until  the  vital  questions  of  the  day 

Are  solved  and  settled,  and  the  spendthrift  thieves 

Who  rob  the  coffers  of  the  saving  poor 

Are  led  from  fashion's  feasts  to  prison  fare, 

And  taught  the  saving  grace  of  honest  work — 

Till  Labor  claims  the  privilege  of  toil 

And  toil  the  proceeds  of  its  labor  shares — 

Let  no  man  sleep,  let  no  man  dare  to  sleep ! 


SHADOWS 


SHADOWS 

I  am  sorry  in  the  gladness 

Of  the  joys  that  crown  my  days, 
For  the  souls  that  sit  in  sadness 

Or  walk  uninviting  ways. 

On  the  radiance  of  my  labor 
That  a  loving  fate  bestowed, 

Falls  the  shadow  of  my  neighbor, 
Crushed  beneath  a  thankless  load. 

As  the  canticle  of  pleasure 
From  my  lovelit  altar  rolls, 

There  is  one  discordant  measure, 
As  I  think  of  homeless  souls. 

And  I  know  that  grim  old  story, 
Preached  from  pulpits,  is  not  so, 

For  no  God  could  sit  in  glory 
And  see  sinners  writhe  below. 

In  that  great  eternal  Center 
Where  all  human  life  has  birth, 

Boundless  love  and  pity  enter 
And  flow  downward  to  the  earth. 

And  all  souls  in  sin  or  sorrow 

Are  but  passing  through  the  night, 

And  I  know  on  some  to-morrow 
God  will  love  them  into  light. 


90  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

THE  NEW  COMMANDMENT 
"Let  Go  the  Cross" — Gertrude  Runshon 

I  heard  a  strange  voice  in  the  distance  calling 
As  from  a  star  an  echo  might  be  falling. 

It  spoke  four  syllables,  concise  and  brief, 
Charged  with  a  God-sent  message  of  relief : 

Let  go  the  cross!    Oh,  you  who  cling  to  sorrow, 
Hark  to  the  new  command  and  comfort  borrow. 

Even  as  the  Master  left  His  cross  below 
And  rose  to  Paradise,  let  go,  let  go. 

Forget  your  wrongs,  your  troubles  and  your  losses, 
For  with  the  tools  of  thought  we  build  our  crosses. 

Forget  your  griefs,  all  grudges  and  all  fear 
And  enter  Paradise — its  gates  are  near. 

Heaven  is  a  realm  by  loving  souls  created, 
And  hell  was  fashioned  by  the  hearts  that  hated. 

Love,  hope  and  trust;  believe  all  joys  are  yours, 
Life  pays  the  soul  whose  confidence  endures, 

The  blows  of  adverse  fate,  by  larger  pleasures, 
As  after  storms  the  soil  yields  fuller  measures. 

Let  go  the  cross;  roll  self — the  stone — away 
And  dwell  with  Love  in  Paradise  to-day. 


SUMMER  DREAMS  91 


SUMMER  DREAMS 

When  the  Summer  sun  is  shining, 

And  the  green  things  push  and  grow, 
Oft  my  heart  runs  over  measure, 
With  its  flowing  fount  of  pleasure, 
As  I  feel  the  sea  winds  blow ; 
Ah,  then  life  is  good,  I  know. 

And  I  think  of  sweet  birds  building, 

And  of  children  fair  and  free; 
And  of  glowing  sun-kissed  meadows, 
And  of  tender  twilight  shadows, 
And  of  boats  upon  the  sea. 
Oh,  then  life  seems  good  to  me! 

Then  unbidden  and  unwanted, 

Come  the  darker,  sadder  sights ; 
City  shop  and  stifling  alley, 
Where  misfortune's  children  rally; 
And  the  hot  crime-breeding  nights, 
And  the  dearth  of  God's  delights. 

And  I  think  of  narrow  prisons 
Where  unhappy  songbirds  dwell, 

And  of  cruel  pens  and  cages 

Where  some  captured  wild  thing  rages 
Like  a  madman  in  his  cell, 
In  the  Zoo,  the  wild  beasts'  hell. 

And  I  long  to  lift  the  burden 
Of  man's  selfishness  and  sin; 


92  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

And  to  open  wide  earth's  treasures 
Of  God's  storehouse,  full  of  pleasures, 
For  my  dumb  and  human  kin, 
And  to  ask  the  whole  world  in. 


THE  BREAKING  OF  CHAINS 

Between  the  ringing  of  bells  and  the  musical  clang  of 
chimes 

I  hear  a  sound  like  the  breaking  of  chains,  all  through 
these  Christmas  times. 

For  the  thought  of  the  world  is  waking  out  of  a  slum- 
ber deep  and  long, 

And  the  race  is  beginning  to  understand  how  Right  can 
master  Wrong. 

And  the  eyes  of  the  world  are  opening  wide,  and  great 

are  the  truths  they  see ; 
And  the  heart  of  the  world  is  singing  a  song,  and  its 

burden  is  "Be  free !" 
Now  the  thought  of  the  world  and  the  wish  of  the 

world  and  the  song  of  the  world  will  make 
A  force  so  strong  that  the  fetters  forged  for  a  million 

years  must  break. 

Fetters  of  superstitious  fear  have  bound  the  race  to 

creeds 
That  hindered  the  upward  march  of  man  to  the  larger 

faith  he  needs. 
Fetters  of  greed  and  pride  have  made  the  race  bow 

down  to  kings; 
But  the  pompous  creed  and  the  costly  throne  must  yield 

to  simpler  things. 


THE  BREAKING  OF  THE  CHAINS        93 

The  thought  of  the  world  has  climbed  above  old  paths 

for  centuries  trod ; 
And  cloth  and  crown  no  longer  mean  the  "vested  power 

of  God." 
The  race  no  longer  bends  beneath  the  weight  of  Adam's 

sin, 
But  stands  erect  and  knows  itself  the  Maker's  first  of 

kin. 

And  the  need  of  the  world  and  the  wish  of  the  world 

and  the  song  of  the  world  I  hear, 
All  through  the  clanging  and  clashing  of  bells,  this 

Christmas  time  o'  the  year ; 
And  I  hear  a  sound  like  the  breaking  of  chains,  and  it 

seems  to  say  to  me, 
In  the  voice  of  One  who  spoke  of  old,  "The  Truth  shall 

make  men  free." 


94  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


DECEMBER 

Upon  December's  windy  portico 

The  Old  Year  stood,  and  looked  out  where,  the  sun 

Went  wading  down  the  West,  through  drifting  clouds. 

"I,  too,  shall  sink  full  soon  to  rest,"  he  sighed, 

"And  follow  where  my  children's  feet  have  trod ; 

Brave  January,  beauteous  May  and  June, 

My  lovely  daughters,  and  my  valiant  sons, 

All,  all  save  one,  have  left  me  for  that  bourne 

Men  call  the  Past.    It  seems  but  yesterday 

I  saw  fair  August,  laughing  with  the  Sea, 

Snaring  the  Earth  with  her  seductive  wiles, 

And  making  conquest,  even  of  the  Sun. 

Yet  has  she  gone,  and  left  me  here  to  mourn." 

Then  spake  December,  from  an  open  door : 

"Father,  the  night  grows  cold ;  come  in  and  rest. 

Sit  with  me  here  beside  this  glowing  grate ; 

I  have  not  left  thee ;  thou  art  not  alone ; 

My  house  is  thine ;  all  warm  with  love  and  light, 

And  bright  with  holly  and  with  cedar  sweet. 

My  stalwart  arm  is  thine  to  lean  upon ; 

The  feast  is  spread,  I  only  wait  for  thee ; 

God  smiles  upon  thy  dead,  smile  thou  on  me." 

Then  through  the  open  door  the  Old  Year  passed 

And  darkness  settled  on  the  outer  world. 


THE  WAY"  95 


"THE  WAY" 

However  certain  of  the  way  thou  art, 
Take  not  the  self-appointed  leader's  part. 
Follow  no  man,  and  by  no  man  be  led, 
And  no  man  lead.    Awake,  and  go  ahead. 
Thy  path,  though  leading  straight  unto  the  goal 
Might  prove  confusing  to  another  soul. 
The  goal  is  central ;  but  from  east,  and  west, 
And  north,  and  south,  we  set  out  on  the  quest ; 
From  lofty  mountains,  and  from  valleys  low: — 
How  could  all  find  one  common  way  to  go? 

Lord  Buddha  to  the  wilderness  was  brought. 
Lord  Jesus  to  the  Cross.    And  yet,  think  not 
By  solitude,  or  cross,  thou  canst  achieve, 
Lest  in  thine  own  true  Self  thou  dost  believe. 
Know  thou  art  One,  with  life's  Almighty  Source, 
Then  are  thy  feet  set  on  the  certain  Course. 

Nor  does  it  matter  if  thou  feast,  or  fast, 

Or  what  thy  creed — or  where  thy  lot  is  cast ; 

In  halls  of  pleasure  or  in  crowded  mart, 

In  city  streets,  or  from  all  men  apart — 

Thy  path  leads  to  the  Light ;  and  peace  and  power 

Shall  be  thy  portion,  growing  hour  by  hour. 

Follow  no  man,  and  by  no  man  be  led. 

And  no  man  lead.    But  know  and  go  ahead. 


96  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  LEADER  TO  BE 

What  shall  the  leader  be  in  that  great  day 

When  we  who  sleep  and  dream  that  we  are  slaves 

Shall  wake  and  know  that  Liberty  is  ours  ? 

Mark  well  that  word — not  yours,  not  mine,  but  ours. 

For  through  the  mingling  of  the  separate  streams 

Of  individual  protest  and  desire, 

In  one  united  sea  of  purpose,  lies 

The  course  to  Freedom. 

When  Progression  takes 
Her  undisputed  right  of  way,  and  sinks 
The  old  traditions  and  conventions  where 
They  may  not  rise,  what  shall  the  leader  be  ? 

No  mighty  warrior  skilled  in  crafts  of  war, 
Sowing  earth's  fertile  furrows  with  dead  men 
And  staining  crimson  God's  cerulean  sea, 
To  prove  his  prowess  to  a  shuddering  world. 

Nor  yet  a  monarch  with  a  silly  crown 
Perched  on  an  empty  head,  an  in-bred  heir 
To  senseless  titles  and  anemic  blood. 

No  ruler,  purchased  by  the  perjured  votes 

Of  striving  demagogues  whose  god  is  gold. 

Not  one  of  these  shall  lead  to  Liberty. 

The  weakness  of  the  world  cries  out  for  strength. 

The  sorrow  of  the  world  cries  out  for  hope. 

Its  suffering  cries  for  kindness. 


THE  LEADER   TO  BE  97 


He  who  leads 

Must  then  be  strong  and  hopeful  as  the  dawn 
That  rises  unafraid  and  full  of  joy 
Above  the  blackness  of  the  darkest  night. 
He  must  be  kind  to  every  living  thing ; 
Kind  as  the  Krishna,  Buddha  and  the  Christ, 
And  full  of  love  for  all  created  life. 
Oh,  not  in  war  shall  his  great  prowess  lie, 
Nor  shall  he  find  his  pleasure  in  the  chase. 
Too  great  for  slaughter,  friend  of  man  and  beast, 
Touching  the  borders  of  the  Unseen  Realms 
And  bringing  down  to  earth  their  mystic  fires 
To  light  our  troubled  pathways,  wise  and  kind 
And  human  to  the  core,  so  shall  he  be, 
The  coming  leader  of  the  coming  time. 


98  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  GREATER  LOVE 

Hear  thou  my  prayer,  great  God  of  opulence ; 

Give  me  no  blessings,  save  as  recompense 

For  blessings  which  I  lovingly  bestow 

Oh  needy  stranger  or  on  suffering  foe. 

If  Wealth,  by  chance,  should  on  my  path  appear, 

Let  Wisdom  and  Benevolence  stand  near, 

And  Charity  within  my  portal  wait, 

To  guard  me  from  acquaintance  intimate. 

Yet  in  this  intricate  great  art  of  living 
Guide  me  away  from  misdirected  giving, 
And  show  me  how  to  spur  the  laggard  soul 
To  strive  alone  once  more  to  gain  the  goal. 

Repay  my  worldly  efforts  to  attain  . 

Only  as  I  develop  heart  and  brain ; 
Nor  brand  me  with  the  "Dollar  Sign"  above 
A  bosom  void  of  sympathy  and  love. 

If  on  the  carrying  winds  my  name  be  blown 
To  any  land  or  time  beyond  my  own, 
Let  it  not  be  as  one  who  gained  the  day 
By  crowding  others  from  the  chosen  way ; 
Rather  as  one  who  missed  the  highest  place 
Pausing  to  cheer  spent  runners  in  the  race. 
To  do — to  have — is  lesser  than  to  BE : 
The  greater  boon  I  ask,  dear  God,  from  Thee. 


THANK  GOD  FOR  LIFE 


THANK  GOD  FOR  LIFE 

Thank  God  for  life,  in  such  an  age  as  this, 
Rich  with  the  promises  of  better  things. 

Thank  God  for  being  part  of  this  great  nation's  heart, 
Whose  strong  pulsations  are  not  ruled  by  kings. 

Our  thanks  for  fearless  and  protesting  speech 

When  cloven  hoofs  show  'neath  the  robes  of  state. 

For  us  no  servile  song  of  "Kings  can  do  no  wrong." 
Not  royal  birth,  but  worth,  makes  rulers  great. 

Thank  God  for  peace  within  our  border  lands, 
And  for  the  love  of  peace  within  each  soul. 

Who  thinks  on  peace  has  wrought,  mosaic-squares  of 

thought 
In  the  foundation  of  our  future  goal. 

Our  thanks  for  love,  and  knowledge  of  love's  laws. 

Love  is  a  greater  power  than  vested  might. 
Love  is  the  central  source  of  all  enduring  force. 

Love  is  the  law  that  sets  the  whole  world  right. 

Our  thanks  for  that  increasing  torch  of  light 
The  tireless  hand  of  science  holds  abroad. 

And  may  its  growing  blaze  shine  on  all  hidden  ways 
Till  man  beholds  the  silhouette  of  God. 


100  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  LAW 

The  sun  may  be  clouded,  yet  ever  the  sun 
Will  sweep  on  its  course  till  the  cycle  is  run. 
And  when  into  chaos  the  systems  are  hurled, 
Again  shall  the  Builder  reshape  a  new  world. 

Your  path  may  be  clouded,  uncertain  your  goal ; 
Move  on,  for  the  orbit  is  fixed  for  your  soul. 
And  though  it  may  lead  into  darkness  of  night, 
The  torch  of  the  Builder  shall  give  it  new  light. 

You  were,  and  you  will  be ;  know  this  while  you  are : 
Your  spirit  has  traveled  both  long  and  afar. 
It  came  from  the  Source,  to  the  Source  it  returns ; 
The  spark  that  was  lighted  eternally  burns. 

It  slept  in  the  jewel,  it  leaped  in  the  wave; 
It  roamed  in  the  forest,  it  rose  from  the  grave ; 
It  took  on  strange  garbs  for  ^ong  eons  of  years, 
And  now  in  the  soul  of  yourself  it  appears. 

From  body  to  body  your  spirit  speeds  on ; 

It  seeks  a  new  form,  when  the  old  one  is  gone ; 

And  the  form  that  it  finds,  is  the  fabric  you  wrought 

On  the  loom  of  the  mind,  with  the  fibre  of  thought. 

As  dew  is  drawn  upward,  in  rain  to  descend, 
Your  thoughts  drift  away  and  in  destiny  blend. 
You  cannot  escape  them ;  or  petty,  or  great, 
Or  evil,  or  noble,  they  fashion  your  fate. 


THE  LAW  101 

Somewhere  on  some  planet,  sometime  and  somehow, 
Your  life  will  reflect  all  the  thoughts  of  your  now. 
The  law  is  unerring ;  no  blood  can  atone ; 
The  structure  you  rear  you  must  live  in  alone. 

From  cycle  to  cycle,  through  time  and  through  space, 
Your  lives  with  your  longings  will  ever  keep  pace. 
And  all  that  you  ask  for,  and  all  you  desire, 
Must  come  at  your  bidding,  as  flames  out  of  fire. 

You  are  your  own  devil,  you  are  your  own  God. 
You  fashioned  the  paths  that  your  footsteps  have  trod. 
And  no  one  can  save  you  from  error  or  sin 
Until  you  shall  hark  to  the  spirit  within. 

Once  list  to  that  voice  and  all  tumult  is  done, 
Your  life  is  the  life  of  the  Infinite  One ; 
In  the  hurrying  race  you  are  conscious  of  pause, 
With  love  for  the  purpose  and  love  for  the  cause. 


102  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


TIME  ENOUGH 

I  know  it  is  early  morning, 

And  hope  is  calling  aloud, 
And  your  heart  is  afire  with  Youth's  desire 

To  hurry  along  with  the  crowd. 
But  linger  a  bit  by  the  roadside, 

And  lend  a  hand  by  the  way, 
'Tis  a  curious  fact  that  a  generous  act 

Brings  leisure  and  luck  to  a  day. 

I  know  it  is  only  the  noontime — 

There  is  chance  enough  to  be  kind ; 
But  the  hours  run  fast  when  noon  has  passed, 

And  the  shadows  are  close  behind. 
So  think  while  the  light  is  shining, 

And  act  ere  the  set  of  the  sun, 
For  the  sorriest  woe  that  a  soul  can  know 

Is  to  think  what  it  might  have  done. 

I  know  it  is  almost  evening, 

But  the  twilight  hour  is  long. 
If  you  listen  and  heed  each  cry  of  need 

You  can  right  full  many  a  wrong. 
For  when  we  have  finished  the  journey 

We  will  all  look  back  and  say : 
"On  life's  long  mile  there  was  nothing  worth  while 

But  the  good  we  did  by  the  way." 


NEW   YEAR'S  DAY  103 


NEW  YEAR'S  DAY 

When  with  clanging  and  with  ringing 

Comes  the  year's  initial  day, 
I  can  feel  the  rhythmic  swinging 

Of  the  world  upon  its  way ; 
And  though  Right  still  wears  a  fetter, 

And  though  Justice  still  is  blind, 
Times  beyond  is  always  better 

Than  the  paths  he  leaves  behind. 

In  our  eons  of  existence, 

As  we  circle  through  the  night, 
We  annihilate  the  distance 

'Twixt  the  darkness  and  the  light. 
From  beginnings  crude  and  lowly, 

Round  and  round  our  souls  have  trod 
Through  the  circles,  winding  slowly 

Up  to  knowledge  and  to  God. 

With  each  century  departed 

Some  old  evil  found  a  tomb, 
Some  old  truth  was  newly  started 

In  propitious  soil  to  bloom. 
With  each  epoch  some  condition 

That  has  handicapped  the  race 
(Worn-out  creed  or  superstition) 

Unto  knowledge  yields  its  place. 

Though  in  folly  and  in  blindness 
And  in  sorrow  still  we  grope, 


104  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Yet  in  man's  increasing  kindness 
Lies  the.  world's  stupendous  hope; 

For  our  darkest  hour  of  errors 
Is  as  radiant  as  the  dawn, 

Set  beside  the  awful  terrors 
Of  the  ages  that  have  gone. 

And  above  the  sad  world's  sobbing, 

And  the  strife  of  clan  with  clan, 
I  can  hear  the  mighty  throbbing 

Of  the  heart  of  God  in  man ; 
And  a  voice  chants  through  the  chiming 

Of  the  bells,  and  seems  to  say, 
We  are  climbing,  we  are  climbing, 

As  we  circle  on  our  way. 


LIFE  IS  A  PRIVILEGE 

Life  is  a  privilege.    Its  youthful  days 
Shine  with  the  radiance  of  continuous  Mays. 
To  live,  to  breathe,  to  wonder  and  desire, 
To  feed  with  dreams  the  heart's  perpetual  fire ; 
To  thrill  with  virtuous  passions  and  to  glow 
With  great  ambitions — in  one  hour  to  know 
The  depths  and  heights  of  feeling — God !  in  truth 
How  beautiful,  how  beautiful  is  youth ! 

Life  is  a  privilege.    Like  some  rare  rose 
The  mysteries  of  the  human  mind  unclose. 
What  marvels  lie  in  earth  and  air  and  sea, 
What  stores  of  knowledge  wait  our  opening  key, 


LIFE'S  A  PRIVILEGE  105 

What  sunny  roads  of  happiness  lead  out 
Beyond  the  realms  of  indolence  and  doubt, 
And  what  large  pleasures  smile  upon  and  bless 
The  busy  avenues  of  usefulness. 

Life  is  a  privilege.    Though  noontide  fades 
And  shadows  fall  along  the  winding  glades ; 
Though  joy-blooms  wither  in  the  autumn  air, 
Yet  the  sweet  scent  of  sympathy  is  there. 
Pale  sorrow  leads  us  closer  to  our  kind, 
And  in  the  serious  hours  of  life  we  find 
Depths  in  the  soul  of  men  which  lend  new  worth 
And  majesty  to  this  brief  span  of  earth. 

Life  is  a  privilege.    If  some  sad  fate 
Sends  us  alone  to  seek  the  exit  gate ; 
If  men  forsake  us  as  the  shadows  fall, 
Still  does  the  supreme  privilege  of  all 
Come  in  that  reaching  upward  of  the  soul 
To  find  the  welcoming  presence  at  the  goal, 
And  in  the  knowledge  that  our  feet  have  trod 
Paths  that  lead  from  and  must  lead  back  to  God. 


106  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


IN  AN  OLD  ART  GALLERY 

Before  the  statue  of  a  giant  Hun, 

There  stood  a  dwarf,  misshapen  and  uncouth. 

His  lifted  eyes  seemed  asking :    "Why,  in  sooth, 
Was  I  not  fashioned  like  this  mighty  one? 
Would  God  show  favor  to  an  older  son 

Like  earthly  kings,  and  beggar  without  ruth 

Another,  who  sinned  only  by  his  youth? 
Why  should  two  lives  in  such  divergence  run?" 

Strange,  as  he  gazed,  that  from  a  vanished  past 
No  memories  revived  of  war  and  strife, 

Of  misused  prowess,  and  of  broken  law. 
That  old  Hun's  spirit,  in  the  dwarf  recast, 
Lived  out  the  sequence  of  an  earthly  life. 
It  was  the  statue  of  himself  be  saw! 


TRUE  BROTHERHOOD 

God,  what  a  world,  if  men  in  street  and  mart 
( Felt  that  same  kinship  of  the  human  heart 
Which  makes  them,  in  the  face  of  flame  and  flood, 
Rise  to  the  meaning  of  true  Brotherhood ! 


THE  DECADENT  107 


THE  DECADENT 

Among  the  virile  hosts  he  passed  along, 
Conspicuous  for  an  undetermined  grace 
Of  sexless  beauty.    In  his  form  and  face 

God's  mighty  purpose  somehow  had  gone  wrong. 

Then  on  his  loom,  he  wove  a  careful  song, 
Of  sensuous  threads ;  a  wordy  web  of  lace 
Wherein  the  primal  passions  of  the  race 

And  his  own  sins  made  wonder  for  the  throng. 

A  little  pen  prick  opened  up  a  vein, 

And  gave  the  finished  mesh  a  crimson  blot — 

The  last  consummate  touch  of  studied  art. 
But  those  who  knew  strong  passion  and  keen  pain, 
Looked  through  and  through  the  pattern  and  found 

not 
One  single  great  emotion  of  the  heart. 


108  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


LORD,  SPEAK  AGAIN 

When  God  had  formed  the  Universe,  He  thought 
Of  all  the  marvels  therein  to  be  wrought 
And  to  his  aid  then  Motherhood  was  brought. 

"My  lesser  self,  the  feminine  of  Me, 

She  will  go  forth  throughout  all  time,"  quoth  He, 

"And  make  my  world  what  I  would  have  it  be. 

"For  I  am  weary,  having  labored  so, 

And  for  a  cycle  of  repose  would  go 

Into  that  silence  which  but  God  may  know. 

"Therefore  I  leave  the  rounding  of  my  plan 
To  Motherhood ;  and  that  which  I  began 
Let  woman  finish  in  perfecting  man. 

"She  is  the  soil :  the  human  Mother  Earth : 
She  is  the  sun,  that  calls  the  seed  to  earth. 
She  is  the  gardener,  who  knows  its  worth. 

"From  Me,  all  seed,  of  any  kind  must  spring. 
Divine  the  growth  such  seed  and  soil  will  bring. 
For  all  is  Me,  and  I  am  everything." 

Thus  having  spoken  to  himself  aloud, 

His  glorious  face  upon  His  breast  He  bowed, 

And  sought  repose  behind  a  wall  of  cloud. 


LORD,  SPEAK  AGAIN  109 

Come  forth,  O  God!  though  great  thy  thought  and 

good, 

In  shaping  woman  for  true  Motherhood, 
Lord,  speak  again ;  she  has  not  understood. 

The  centuries  pass :  the  cycles  roll  along — 
The  earth  is  peopled  with  a  mighty  throng, 
Yet  men  are  righting  and  the  world  goes  wrong. 

Lord,  speak  again,  ere  yet  it  be  too  late, 

Unloved,  unwanted  souls  come  through  earth's  gate : 

The  unborn  child  is  given  a  dower  of  hate. 

Thy  world  progresses  in  all  ways  save  one. 
In  Motherhood,  for  which  it  was  begun, 
Lord,  Lord,  behold  how  little  has  been  done ! 

Children  are  spawned  like  fishes  in  the  sand. 
With  ignorance  and  crime  they  fill  the  land. 
Lord,  speak  again,  till  mothers  understand. 

It  is  not  all  of  Motherhood  to  know 

Conception  pleasure  or  deliverance  woe. 

Who  plants  the  seed  should  help  the  shoot  to  grow. 

Better  a  barren  soil  than  weed  and  tare, 
Or  sickly  plants  that  die  for  want  of  care 
In  poisonous  jungles,  void  of  sun  and  air. 

True  Motherhood  is  not  alone  to  breed 
The  human  race ;  it  is  to  know  and  heed 
Its  holiest  purpose  and  its  highest  need. 

Lord,  speak  again,  so  woman  shall  be  stirred 
With  the  full  meaning  of  that  mighty  word 
True  Motherhood.    She  has  not  rightly  heard. 


110  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


MY  HEAVEN. 

Unhoused  in  deserts  of  accepted  thought, 
And  lost  in  jungles  of  confusing  creeds, 
My  soul  strayed,  homeless,  finding  its  own  needs 

Unsatisfied  with  what  tradition  taught. 

The  pros  and  cons,  the  little  ifs  and  ands, 
The  but  and  maybe,  and  the  this  and  that, 
On  which  the  churches  thicken  and  grow  fat, 

I  found  but  structures  built  on  shifting  sands. 

And  all  their  heavens  were  strange  and  far  away, 
And  all  their  hells  were  made  of  human  hate ; 
And  since  for  death  I  did  not  care  to  wait, 

A  heaven  I  fashioned  for  myself  one.  day. 

Of  happy  thoughts  I  built  it  stone  by  stone, 
With  joy  of  life  I  draped  each  spacious  room, 
With  love's  great  light  I  drove  away  all  gloom, 

And  in  the  center  I  made  God  a  throne. 

And  this  dear  heaven  I  set  within  my  heart, 
And  carried  it  about  with  me  alway, 
And  then  the  changing  dogmas  of  the  day 

Seemed  alien  to  my  thoughts  and  held  no  part. 

Now  as  I  take  my  heaven  from  place  to  place 
I  find  new  rooms  by  love's  revealing  light, 
And  death  will  give  me  but  a  larger  sight 

To  see  my  palace  spreading  into  space. 


LIFE  111 


LIFE 

On  a  bleak,  bald  hill  with  a  dull  world  under, 

The  dreary  world  of  the  Commonplace, 
I  have  stood  when  the  whole  world  seemed  a  blunder 

Of  dotard  Time,  in  an  aimless  race. 
With  worry  about  me  and  want  before  me — 

Yet  deep  in  my  soul  was  a  rapture  spring 
That  made  me  cry  to  the  gray  sky  o'er  me : 

"Oh,  I  know  this  life  is  a  goodly  thing!" 

I  have  given  sweet  years  to  a  thankless  duty 

While  cold  and  starving,  though  clothed  and  fed, 
For  a  young  heart's  hunger  for  joy  and  beauty 

Is  harder  to  bear  than  the  need  of  bread. 
I  have  watched  the  wane  of  a  sodden  season, 

Which  let  hope  wither,  and  made  care  thrive, 
And  through  it  all,  without  earthly  reason, 

I  have  thrilled  with  the  glory  of  being  alive. 

And  now  I  stand  by  the  great  sea's  splendor, 

Where  love  and  beauty  feed  heart  and  eye. 
The  brilliant  light  of  the  sun  grows  tender 

As  it  slants  to  the  shore  of  the  by  and  by. 
I  prize  each  hour  as  a  golden  treasure — 

A  pearl  Time  drops  from  a  broken  string: 
And  all  my  ways  are  the  ways  of  pleasure, 

And  I  know  this  life  is  a  goodly  thing. 

And  I  know,  too,  that  not  in  the  seeing, 
Or  having,  or  doing  the  things  we  would, 


112  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Lies  that  deep  rapture  that  comes  from  being 
At  one  with  the  Purpose  which  made  all  good. 

And  not  from  Pleasure  the  heart  may  borrow 
That  rare  contentment  for  which  we  strive, 

Unless  through  trouble,  and  want,  and  sorrow 
It  has  thrilled  with  the  glory  of  being  alive. 


GOD'S  KIN 

There  is  no  summit  you  may  not  attain, 

No  purpose  which  you  may  not  yet  achieve, 
If  you  will  wait  serenely  and  believe 

Each  seeming  loss  is  but  a  step  toward  gain. 

Between  the  mountain-tops  lie  vale  and  plain ; 

Let  nothing  make  you  question,  doubt  or  grieve ; 

Give  only  good,  and  good  alone  receive ; 
And  as  you  welcome  joy,  so  welcome  pain. 

That  which  you  most  desire  awaits  your  word ; 

Throw  wide  the  door  and  bid  it  enter  in. 
Speak,  and  the  strong  vibrations  shall  be  stirred ; 

Speak,  and  above  earth's  loud,  unmeaning  din 
Your  silent  declarations  shall  be  heard. 

All  things  are  possible  to  God's  own  kin. 


CONQUEST  113 


CONQUEST 

Talk  not  of  strength,  until  your  heart  has  known 
And  fought  with  weakness  through  long  hours  alone. 

Talk  not  of  virtue,  till  your  conquering  soul 
Has  met  temptation  and  gained  full  control. 

Boast  not  of  garments,  all  unscorched  by  sin, 

Till  you  have  passed,  unscathed,  through  fires  within. 

Oh,  poor  that  pride  the  unscarred  soldier  shows, 
Who  safe  in  camp,  has  never  faced  his  foes. 


114  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  STATUE 

A  granite  rock  in  the  mountain  side 
Gazed  on  the  world  and  was  satisfied. 
It  watched  the  centuries  come  and  go. 
It  welcomed  the  sunlight,  yet  loved  the  snow. 
It  grieved  when  the  forest  was  forced  to  fall, 
Yet  joyed  when  steeples  rose,  white  and  tall, 
In  the  valley  below  it,  and  thrilled  to  hear 
The  voice  of  the  great  town  roaring  near. 

When  the  mountain  stream  from  its  idle  play 
Was  caught  by  the  mill  wheel  and  borne  away 
And  trained  to  labor,  the  gray  rock  mused 
"Trees  and  verdure  and  stream  are  used 
By  Man  the  Master;  but  I  remain 
Friend  of  the  mountain,  and  star,  and  plain, 
Unchanged  forever  by  God's  decree, 
While  passing  centuries  bow  to  me." 

Then  all  unwarned,  with  a  mighty  shock 
Out  of  the  mountain  was  wrenched  the  rock. 
Bruised  and  battered  and  broken  in  heart, 
It  was  carried  away  to  the  common  mart, 
Wrecked  and  ruined  in  piece  and  pride. 
"Oh,  God  is  cruel,"  the  granite  cried, 
"Comrade  of  mountains,  of  stars  the  friend, 
By  all  deserted,  how  sad  my  end." 

A  dreaming  sculptor  in  passing  by 
Gazed  at  the  granite  with  thoughtful  eye. 


SIRIUS  115 

Then  stirred  with  a  purpose  supremely  grand 
He  bade  his  dream  in  the  rock  expand. 
And  lo !  from  the  broken  and  shapeless  mass 
That  grieved  and  doubted,  it  came  to  pass 
That  a  glorious  statue  of  priceless  worth 
And  infinite  beauty,  adorned  the  earth. 


SIRIUS 

"Since  Sinus  crossed  the  Milky  Way,  sixty  thousand 
years  have  gone." — Garrett  P.  Serviss. 

Since  Sirius  crossed  the  Milky  Way 
Full  sixty  thousand  years  have  gone, 

Yet  hour  by  hour,  and  day  by  day, 
This  tireless  star  speeds  on  and  on. 

Methinks  he  must  be  moved  to  mirth 

By  that  droll  tale  of  Genesis, 
Which  says  creation  had  its  birth 

For  such  a  puny  world  as  this. 

To  hear  how  One  who  fashioned  all 
Those  Solar  Systems,  tier  on  tiers, 

Expressed  in  little  Adam's  fall 
The  purpose  of  a  million  spheres. 

And,  witness  of  the  endless  plan, 

To  splendid  wrath  he  must  be  wrought 

By  pigmy  creeds  presumptuous  man 
Sends  forth  as  God's  primeval  thought. 


116  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

Perchance  from  half  a  hundred  stars 
He  hears  as  many  curious  things ; 

From  Venus,  Jupiter  and  Mars, 

And  Saturn  with  the  beauteous  rings, 

There  may  be  students  of  the  Cause 
Who  send  their  revelations  out, 

And  formulate  their  codes  of  laws, 

With  heavens  for  faith  and  hells  for  doubt. 

On  planets  old  ere  form  or  place 

Was  lent  to  earth,  may  dwell — who  knows — 
A  God-like  and  perfected  race 

That  hails  great  Sirius  as  he  goes. 

In  zones  that  circle  moon  and  sun, 

Twixt  world  and  world,  he  may  see  souls 

Whose  span  of  earthly  life  is  done, 
Still  journeying  up  to  higher  goals. 

And  on  dead  planets  gray  and  cold 
Grim  spectral  souls,  that  harbored  hate 

Life  after  life,  he  may  behold 
Descending  to  a  darker  fate. 

And  on  his  grand  majestic  course 

He  may  have  caught  one  glorious  sight 

Of  that  vast  shining  central  Source 

From  which  proceeds  all  Life,  all  Light. 

Since  Sirius  crossed  the  Milky  Way 
Full  sixty  thousand  years  have  gone, 

No  mortal  man  may  bid  him  stay, 
No  mortal  man  may  speed  him  on. 


AT  FONTAINEBLEAU  117 

No  mortal  mind  may  comprehend 
What  is  beyond,  what  was  before; 

To  God  be  glory  without  end, 
Let  man  be  humble  and  adore. 


AT  FONTAINEBLEAU 

At  Fontainebleau,  I  saw  a  little  bed 

Fashioned  of  polished  wood,  with  gold  ornate, 
Ambition,  hope,  and  sorrow,  aye,  and  hate 

Once  battled  there,  above  a  childish  head, 

And  there  in  vain,  grief  wept,  and  memory  plead 
It  was  so  small !  but  Ah,  dear  God,  how  great 
The  part  it  played  in  one  sad  woman's  fate. 

How  wide  the  gloom,  that  narrow  object  shed. 

The  symbol  of  an  over-reaching  aim, 
The  emblem  of  a  devastated  joy, 

It  spoke  of  glory,  and  a  blasted  home : 
Of  fleeting  honors,  and  disordered  fame, 
And  the  lone  passing  of  a  fragile  boy. 
******* 
It  was  the  cradle  of  the  King  of  Rome. 


118  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


THE  MASQUERADE 

Look  in  the  eyes  of  trouble  with  a  smile, 
Extend  your  hand  and  do  not  be  afraid. 
"Tis  but  a  friend  who  comes  to  masquerade. 

And  test  your  faith  and  courage  for  awhile. 

Fly,  and  he  follows  fast  with  threat  and  jeer. 
Shrink,  and  he  deals  hard  blow  on  stinging  blow, 
But  bid  him  welcome  as  a  friend,  and  lo ! 

The  jest  is  off — the  masque  will  disappear. 


SYMPATHY  119 


SYMPATHY 

Is  the  way  bard  and  thorny,  oh,  my  brother? 

Do  tempests  beat,  and  adverse  wild  winds  blow? 
And  are  you  spent,  and  broken,  at  each  nightfall, 

Yet  with  each  morn  you  rise  and  onward  go? 
Brother,  I  know,  I  know ! 
I,  too,  have  journeyed  so. 

Is  your  heart  mad  with  longing,  oh,  my  sister? 

Are  all  great  passions  in  your  breast  aglow? 
Does  the  white  wonder  of  your  own  soul  blind  you, 

And  are  you  torn  with  rapture  and  with  woe? 
Sister,  I  know,  I  know! 
I,  too,  have  suffered  so. 

Is  the  road  filled  with  snare  and  quicksand,  pilgrim? 

Do  pitfalls  lie  where  roses  seem  to  grow? 
And  have  you  sometimes  stumbled  in  the  «fcrirm>gs 

And  are  you  bruised  and  scarred  by  many  a  Mow? 
Pilgrim,  I  know,  I  know ! 
I,  too,  have  stumbled  so. 

Do  you  send  out  rebellious  cry  and  question, 
As  mocking  hours  pass  silently  and  stow, 

Does  your  insistent  "wherefore"  bring  no  answer, 
While  stars  wax  pale  with  watching,  and  droop  low? 

I,  too,  have  questioned  so, 

But  now  /  know,  I  know! 

To  toil,  to  strive,  to  err,  to  cry,  to  grow, 

To  love  through  all — this  is  the  way  to  know. 


130  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


INTERMEDIARY 

When  from  the  prison  of  its  body  free, 

My  soul  shall  soar,  before  it  goes  to  Thee, 

Thou  great  Creator,  give  it  power  to  know 

The  language  of  all  sad,  dumb  things  below. 

And  let  me  dwell  a  season  still  on  earth 

Before  I  rise  to  some  diviner  birth : 

Invisible  to  men,  yet  seen  and  heard, 

And  understood  by  sorrowing  beast  and  bird — 

Invisible  to  men,  yet  always  near, 

To  whisper  counsel  in  the  human  ear : 

And  with  a  spell  to  stay  the  hunter's  hand 

And  stir  his  heart  to  know  and  understand ; 

To  plant  within  the  dull  or  thoughtless  mind 

The  great  religious  impulse  to  be  kind. 

Before  I  prune  my  spirit  wings  and  rise 
To  seek  my  loved  ones  in  their  paradise, 
Yea !  even  before  I  hasten  on  to  see 
That  lost  child's  face,  so  like  a  dream  to  me, 
I  would  be  given  this  intermediate  role, 
And  carry  comfort  to  each  poor,  dumb  soul : 
And  bridge  man's  gulf  of  cruelty  and  sin 
By  understanding  of  his  lower  kin. 
'Twixt  weary  driver  and  the  straining  steed 
On  wings  of  mercy  would  my  spirit  speed. 
And  each  should  know,  before  his  journey's  end, 
That  in  the  other  dwelt  a  loving  friend. 


LIFE'S  CAR  121 

From  zoo  and  jungle,  and  from  cage  and  stall, 

I  would  translate  each  inarticulate  call, 

Each  pleading  look,  each  frenzied  act  and  cry, 

And  tell  the  story  to  each  passer-by ; 

And  of  a  spirit's  privilege  possessed, 

Pursue  indifference  to  its  couch  of  rest, 

And  whisper  in  its  ear  until  in  awe 

It  woke  and  knew  God's  all-embracing  law 

Of  Universal  Life — the  One  in  All. 

****** 
Lord,  let  this  mission  to  my  lot  befall. 


LIFE'S  CAR 

"Hurry  up!" 
No  lingering  by  old  doors  of  doubt — 

No  loitering  by  the  way, 
No  waiting  a  To-morrow  car, 

When  you  can  board  Today. 
Success  is  somewhere  down  the  track ; 

Before  the  chance  is  gone 
Accelerate  your  laggard  pace, 

Swing  on,  I  say,  swing  on — 
Hurry  up! 

"Step  lively!" 
Belated  souls  are  following  fast, 

They  shout  and  signal,  "Wait." 
Conductor  Time  brooks  no  delay, 

He  rings  the  bell  of  Fate. 
But  you  can  give  the  man  behind, 

With  one  hand  on  the  bar, 


122  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

A  final  chance  to  brook  defeat, 
And  board  the  moving  car. 
Step  lively! 

"Move  up !" 
Make  way  for  others  as  you  sit 

Or  stand.    This  crowded  earth 
Has  room  for  every  journeying  soul 

En  route  to  higher  birth. 
Aye,  room  and  comfort,  if  no  one 

Took  double  share  or  space, 
Nor  let  his  greed  and  selfishness 

Absorb  another's  place. 
Move  up ! 

"Holdfast!" 
The  jolting  switch  of  obstacles 

With  jarring  rails  is  near. 
Stand  firm  of  foot,  be  strong  of  grip, 

Brace  well  and  have  no  fear. 
The  Maker  of  the  Car  of  Life 

Foresaw  that  curve — Despair, 
And  hung  the  straps  of  faith,  and  hope 

So  you  might  grasp  them  there. 
Holdfast! 


OPPORTUNITY 

Send  forth  your  heart's  desire,  and  work  and  wait : 
The  opportunities  of  life  are  brought 

To  our  own  doors,  not  by  capricious  fate, 
But  by  the  strong  compelling  force  of  thought. 


THE  AGE  OF  MOTORED   THINGS       123 


THE  AGE  OF  MOTORED  THINGS 

The  wonderful  age  of  the  world  I  sing — 

The  age  of  battery,  coil  and  spring, 

Of  steam,  and  storage,  and  motored  thing. 

Though  faith  may  slumber  and  art  seem  dead, 
And  all  that  is  spoken  has  once  been  said, 
And  all  that  is  written  were  best  unread ; 

Though  hearts  are  iron  and  thoughts  are  steel, 
And  all  that  has  value  is  mercantile, 
Yet  marvelous  truths  shall  the  age  reveal. 

Aye,  greater  the  marvels  this  age  shall  find 
Than  all  the  centuries  left  behind, 
When  faith  was  a  bigot  and  art  was  blind. 

Oh,  sorry  the  search  of  the  world  for  gods, 
Through  faith  that  slaughters  and  art  that  lauds, 
While  reason  sits  on  its  throne  and  nods. 

But  out  of  the  leisure  that  men  will  know, 
When  the  cruel  things  of  the  sad  earth  go, 
A  Faith  that  is  Knowledge  shall  rise  and  grow. 

In  the  throb  and  whir  of  each  new  machine 
Thinner  is  growing  the  veil  between 
The  visible  earth  and  the  world's  unseen. 

The  True  Religion  shall  leisure  bring ; 
And  Art  shall  awaken  and  Love  shall  sing: 
Oh,  ho !  for  the  age  of  the  motored  thing ! 


124  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


NEW  YEAR 
Mortal: 

"The  night  is  cold,  the  hour  is  late,  the  world  is 

bleak  and  drear ; 
"Who  is  it  knocking  at  my  door  ?" 

The  New  Year: 

"I  am  Good  Cheer." 

Mortal: 

"Your  voice  is  strange ;  I  know  you  not ;  in  shad- 
ows dark  I  grope. 
"What  seek  you  here?" 

The  'New  Year: 

"Friend,  let  me  in ;  my  name  is  Hope." 

Mortal: 

"And  mine  is  Failure;  you  but  mock  the  life  you 

seek  to  bless. 
"Pass  on." 

The  Neiv  Year: 

"Nay,  open  wide  the  door ;  I  am  Success." 

Mortal: 

"But  I  am  ill  and  spent  with  pain;  too  late  has 

come  your  wealth. 
"I  cannot  use  it." 

The  New  Year: 

"Listen,  friend ;  I  am  Good  Health." 


DISARMAMENT  125 

Mortal: 

"Now,  wide  I  fling  my  door.    Come  in,  and  your 
fair  statements  prove." 

The  New  Year: 

"But  you  must  open,  too,  your  heart,  for  I  am 
Love." 


DISARMAMENT 

We  have  outgrown  the  helmet  and  cuirass, 
The  spear,  the  arrow,  and  the  javelin. 
These  crude  inventions  of  a  cruder  age, 
When  men  killed  men  to  show  their  love  of  God, 
And  he  who  slaughtered  most  was  greatest  king. 
We  have  outgrown  the  need  of  war ! 

Should  men 
Unite  in  this  one  thought,  all  war  would  end. 

Disarm  the  world ;  and  let  all  Nations  meet 
Like  Men,  not  monsters,  when  disputes  arise. 
When  crossed  opinions  tangle  into  snarls, 
Let  Courts  untie  them,  and  not  armies  cut. 
When  State  discussions  breed  dissentions,  let 
Union  and  Arbitration  supersede 
The  hell-created  implements  of  War. 
Disarm  the  world !  and  bid  destructive  thought 
Slip  like  a  serpent  from  the  mortal  mind 
Down  through  the  marshes  of  oblivion.     Soon 
A  race  of  gods  shall  rise !    Disarm !  Disarm ! 


126  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


EXISTENCE 

You  are  here,  and  you  are  wanted, 
Though  a  waif  upon  life's  stair ; 
Though  the  sunlit  hours  are  haunted 
With  the  shadowy  shapes  of  care. 
Still  the  Great  One,  the  All-Seeing, 
Called  your  spirit  into  being — 
Gave  you  strength  for  any  fate. 
Since  your  life  by  Him  was  needed, 
All  your  ways  by  Him  are  heeded — 
You  can  trust  and  you  can  wait. 

You  can  wait  to  know  the  meaning 

Of  the  troubles  sent  your  soul ; 
Of  the  chasms  intervening 

'Twixt  your  purpose  and  your  goal ; 
Of  the  sorrows  and  the  trials, 
Of  the  silence  and  denials, 

Ofttimes  answering  to  your  pleas  ; 
Of  the  stinted  sweets  of  pleasure, 
And  of  pain's  too  generous  measure — 

You  can  wait  the  why  of  these. 

Forth  from  planet  unto  planet, 
You  have  gone,  and  you  will  go. 

Space  is  vast,  but  we  must  span  it ; 
For  life's  purpose  is  to  know. 

Earth  retains  you  but  a  minute, 

Make  the  best  of  what  lies  in  it ; 


THE  HEIGHTS  127 

Light  the  pathway  where  you  are. 
There  is  nothing  worth  the  doing 
That  will  leave  regret  or  rueing, 

As  you  speed  from  star  to  star. 

You  are  part  of  the  Beginning, 

You  are  parcel  of  To-day. 
When  He  set  His  world  to  spinning 

You  were  flung  upon  your  way. 
When  the  system  falls  to  pieces, 
When  this  pulsing  epoch  ceases, 

When  the  is  becomes  the  was, 
You  will  live,  for  you  will  enter 
In  the  great  Creative  Center, 

In  the  All-Enduring  Cause. 


THE   HEIGHTS 

I  cried,  "Dear  Angel,  lead  me  to  the  heights, 

And  spur  me  to  the  top." 

The  Angel  answered,  "Stop 
And  set  thy  house  in  order ;  make  it  fair 
For  absent  ones  who  may  be  speeding  there. 

Then  will  we  talk  of  heights." 

I  put  my  house  in  order.    "Now  lead  on!" 

The  Angel  said,  "Not  yet; 

Thy  garden  is  beset 

By  thorns  and  tares ;  go  weed  it,  so  all  those 
Who  come  to  gaze  may  find  the  unvexed  rose ; 

Then  will  we  journey  on." 


128  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

I  weeded  well  my  garden.    "All  is  done." 

The  Angel  shook  his  head. 

"A  beggar  stands,"  he  said, 
"Outside  thy  gates;  till  thou  hast  given  heed 
And  soothed  his  sorrow,  and  supplied  his  need, 

Say  not  that  all  is  done." 

The  beggar  left  me  singing.    "Now  at  last — 

At  last  the  path  is  clear." 

"Nay,  there  is  one  draws  near 
Who  seeks,  like  thee,  the  difficult  highway. 
He  lacks  thy  courage;  cheer  him  through  the  day. 

Then  will  we  cry,  'At  last!'" 

I  helped  my  weaker  brother.     "Now  the  heights; 

Oh,  Guide  me,  Angel,  guide!" 

The  Presence  at  my  side, 

With  radiant  face,  said,  "Look,  where  are  we  now?" 
And  lo!  we  stood  upon  the  mountain's  brow — 

The  heights,  the  shining  heights ! 


THE  HYMN  OF  THE  REPUBLIC         129 


THE  HYMN  OF  THE  REPUBLIC 

I  have  listened  to  the  sighing  of  the  burdened  and  the 

bound, 
I  have  heard  it  change  to  crying,  with  a  menace  in  the 

sound ; 
I  have  seen  the  money  getters  pass  unheeding  on  the 

way, 
As  they  went  to  forge  new  fetters  for  the  people  day 

by  day. 

Then  the  voice  of  Labor  thundered  forth  its  purpose 

and  its  need, 
And  I  marveled,  and  I  wondered,  at  the  cold  dull  ear  of 

greed; 
For  as  chimes,  in  some  great  steeple,  tell  the  passing  of 

the  hour, 
So  the  voices  of  the  people  tell  the  death  of  purchased 

power. 

All  the  gathered  dust  of  ages,  God  is  brushing  from  His 

book; 
He  is  opening  up  its  pages,  and  He  bids  His  children 

look; 
And  in  shock  and  conflagration,  and  in  pestilence  and 

strife, 
He  is  speaking  to  the  nations,  of  the  brevity  of  life. 

Mother  Earth  herself  is  shaken  by  our  sorrows  and 

our  crimes; 
And  she  bids  her  sons  awaken  to  the  portent  of  the 

times ; 


130  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

With  her  travail  pains  upon  her,  she  is  hurling  from 

their  place 
All  the  minions  of  dishonor,  to  admit  the  Coming  Race. 

By  the  voice  of  Justice  bidden,  she  has  torn  the  mask 

from  might. 
All  the  shameful  secrets  hidden,  she  is  dragging  into 

light; 
And  whoever  wrongs  his  neighbor  must  be  brought  to 

judgment  now, 
Though  he  wear  the  badge  of  Labor,  or  a  crown  upon 

his  brow. 

There  is  growth  in  Revolution,  if  the  word  is  under- 
stood ; 

It  is  one  with  Evolution,  up  from  self,  to  brotherhood ; 

He  who  utters  it  unheeding,  bent  on  self,  or  selfish  gain, 

His  own  day  of  doom  is  speeding,  though  he  toil,  or 
though  he  reign. 

God  is  calling  to  the  masses,  to  the  peasant,  and  the 

peer; 

He  is  calling  to  all  classes,  that  the  crucial  hour  is  near ; 
For  each  rotting  throne  must  tremble,  and  fall  broken 

in  the  dust, 
With  the  leaders  who  dissemble,  and  betray  a  people's 

trust. 

Still  the  voice  of  God  is  calling;  and  above  the  wreck  I 

see, 
And  beyond  the  gloom  appalling,  the  great  Govern- 

ment-to-Be. 


THE  RADIANT  CHRIST  131 

From  the  ruins  it  has  risen,  and  my  soul  is  overjoyed, 
For  the  School  supplants  the  prison,  and  there  are  no 
"unemployed." 

And  there  are  no  children's  faces  at  the  spindle  or  the 

loom; 
They  are  out  in  sunny  places,  where  the  other  sweet 

things  bloom ; 
God  has  purified  the  alleys,  He  has  set  the  white  slaves 

free, 
And  they  own  the  hills  and  valleys  in  this  Government- 

to-Be. 


THE  RADIANT  CHRIST 
I 

Arise,  oh  master  artist  of  the  age, 

And  paint  the  picture  which  at  once  shall  be 

Immortal  art  and  bless'd  prophecy. 

The  bruis'd  vision  of  the  world  assuage ; 

To  earth's  dark  book  add  one  illumined  page, 

So  scintillant  with  truth,  that  all  who  see 

Shall  break  from  superstition  and  stand  free. 

Now  let  this  wondrous  work  thy  hand  engage. 

The  mortal  sorrow  of  the  Nazarene, 

Too  long  has  been  faith's  symbol  and  its  sign ; 

Too  long  a  dying  Saviour  has  sufficed. 

Give  us  the  glowing  emblem  which  shall  mean, 

Mankind  awakened  to  the  Self  Divine; 

The  living  emblem  of  the  Radiant  Christ. 


132  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

II 

Too  long  the  crucifix  on  Calvary's  height 
Has  cast  its  shadow  on  the  human  heart. 
Let  now  Religion's  great  co-worker  Art, 
Limn  on  the  background  of  departing  night, 
The  shining  Face  all  palpitant  with  light, 
And  God's  true  message  to  the  world  impart. 
Go  tell  each  toiler  in  the  home  and  mart, 
"Lo,  Christ  is  with  ye,  if  ye  seek  aright." 
The  world  forgets  the  vital  word  Christ  taught; 
The  only  word  the  world  has  need  to  know ; 
The  answer  to  creation's  problem — Love. 
The  world  remembers  what  the  Christ  forgot ; 
His  cross  of  anguish  and  his  death  of  woe; 
Release  the  martyr,  and  the  cross  remove ! 

Ill 

For  now  "the  former  things  have  passed  away," 

And  man,  forgetting  that  which  lies  behind, 

And  ever  pressing  forward,  seeks  to  find 

The  prize  of  his  high  calling.     Send  a  ray 

From  art's  bright  sun,  to  fortify  the  day, 

And  blaze  the  trail  to  every  mortal  mind. 

The  new  religion  lies  in  being  kind ; 

Faith  stands  and  works,  where  once  it  knelt  to  pray 

Faith  counts  its  gain,  where  once  it  reckoned  loss; 

Ascending  paths,  its  patient  feet  have  trod ; 

Man  looks  within,  and  finds  salvation  there. 

Release  the  suffering  Saviour  from  the  Cross, 

And  give  the  waiting  world  its  Radiant  God. 


THE  CALL  133 


THE  CALL 

All  wantonly  in  hours  of  joy, 

I  made  a  song  of  pain. 

Soon  Grief  drew  near,  and  paused  to  hear, 

And  sang  the  sad  refrain, 

Again  and  yet  again. 

Then  recklessly  in  my  despair, 

I  sang  of  hope  one  day. 

And  Joy  turned  back  upon  life's  track, 

And  smiled,  and  came  my  way, 

And  sat  her  down  to  stay. 


134  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 


A  LITTLE  SONG 

Oh,  a  great  world,  a  fair  world,  a  true  world  I  find  it 

A  sun  that  never  forgets  to  rise, 

On  the  darkest  night,  a  star  in  the  skies, 

And  a  God  of  love  behind  it. 

Oh,  a  good  life,  a  sweet  life,  a  large  life  I  take  it, 
Is  what  He  offers  to  you,  and  me ; 
A  chance  to  do,  and  a  chance  to  be, 
Whatever  we  choose  to  make  it. 

Oh,  a  far  way,  a  high  way,  a  sure  way  He  leads  us ; 
And  if  the  journey  at  times  seems  long, 
We  must  trudge  ahead,  with  a  trustful  song, 
And  know  at  the  end  He  needs  us. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  JEALOUSY  135 


THE  BIRTH  OF  JEALOUSY 

With  brooding  mein  and  sultry  eyes, 
Outside  the  gates  of  Paradise, 
Eve  sat,  and  fed  the  faggot  flame, 
That  lit  the  path  whence  Adam  came. 
(Strange  are  the  workings  of  a  woman's  mind.) 

His  giant  shade  preceded  him, 

Along  the  pathway  green,  and  dim ; 

She  heard  his  swift  approaching  tread, 

But  still  she  sat  with  drooping  head. 

(Dark  are  the  jungles  of  unhappy  thought.) 

He  kissed  her  mouth,  and  gazed  within 
Her  troubled  eyes ;  for  since  their  sin, 
His  love  had  grown  a  thousand  fold. 
But  Eve  drew  back;  her  face  was  cold. 
(Oh,  who  can  read  the  cipher  of  a  soul.) 

"Now  art  thou  mourning  still,  sweet  wife?" 

Spake  Adam  tenderly,  "the  life 

Of  our  lost  Eden  ?    Why,  in  thee 

All  Paradise  remains  for  me." 

(Deep,  deep  the  currents  in  a  strong  man's  heart.) 

Thus  Eve:    "Nay  not  lost  Eden's  bliss 

I  mourn ;  for  heavier  woe  than  this 

Wears  on  me  with  one  thought  accursed. 

In  Adam's  life  I  am  not  first. 

(Oh  woman's  mind,  what  hells  are  fashioned  there.) 


136  POEMS  OF  PROGRESS 

"The  serpent  whispered  Lilith's  name: 

('Twas  thus  he  drove  me  to  my  shame) 

Pluck  yonder  fruit,  he  said,  and  know, 

How  Adam  loved  her,  long  ago. 

(Fools,  Fools,  who  wander  searching  after  pain.) 

"I  ate;  and  like  an  ancient  scroll, 

I  saw  that  other  life  unroll; 

I  saw  thee,  Adam,  far  from  here 

With  Lilith  on  a  wondrous  sphere. 

(Bold,  bold,  the  daring  of  a  jealous  heart.) 

"Nay,  tell  me  not  I  dreamed  it  all; 

Last  night  in  sleep  thou  didst  let  fall 

Her  name  in  tenderness;  I  bowed 

My  stricken  head,  and  cried  aloud. 

(Vast,  vast  the  torment  of  a  self-made  woe.) 

"And  it  was  then,  and  not  before, 
That  Eden  shut,  and  barred  its  door. 
Alone  in  God's  great  world  I  seemed, 
Whilst  thou  of  thy  lost  Lilith  dreamed. 
(Oh,  who  can  measure  such  wide  loneliness.) 

"Now  every  little  breeze  that  sings, 

Sighs  Lilith,  like  thy  whisperings. 

Oh,  where  can  sorrow  hide  its  face, 

When  Lilith,  Lilith,  fills  all  space?" 

(And  Adam  in  the  darkness  spake  no  word.) 


SUMMER'S  FAREWELL  137 


SUMMER'S  FAREWELL 

All  in  the  time  when  Earth  did  most  deplore 
The  cold,  ungracious  aspect  of  young  May, 
Sweet  Summer  came,  and  bade  him  smile  once  more ; 
She  wove  bright  garlands,  and  in  winsome  play, 
She  bound  him  willing  captive.    Day  by  day 
She  found  new  wiles  wherewith  his  heart  to  please ; 
Or  bright  the  sun,  or  if  the  skies  were  gray, 
They  laughed  together,  under  spreading  trees, 
By  running  brooks,  or  on  the  sandy  shores  of  seas. 

They  were  but  comrades.    To  that  radiant  maid, 

No  serious  word  he  spake;  no  lovers'  plea. 

Like  careless  children,  glad  and  unafraid, 

They  sported  in  their  opulence  of  glee. 

Her  shining  tresses  floated  wild,  and  free; 

In  simple  lines,  her  emerald  garments  hung; 

She  was  both  good  to  hear,  and  fair  to  see; 

And  when  she  laughed,  then  Earth  laughed  too,  and 

flung 
His  cares  behind  him,  and  grew  radiant  and  young. 

One  golden  day,  as  he  reclined  beneath 

The  arching  azure  of  enchanting  skies, 

Fair  Summer  came,  engirdled  with  a  wreath 

Of  gorgeous  leaves  all  scintillant  with  dyes. 

Effulgent  was  she ;  yet  within  her  eyes, 

There  hung  a  quivering  mist  of  tears  unshed. 

Her  crimson  mantled  bosom  shook  with  sighs ; 

Above  him  bent  the  glory  of  her  head; 

And  on  his  mouth  she  pressed  a  splendid  kiss,  and  fled. 


NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 


Copyright,  1906, 

BY 
EM.A  WHEBI.BR  Wi 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 
NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 

PAGE 

A  Dialogue  141 

The  Weed  143 

Strength    144 

Affirm    145 

The  Chosen  146 

The  Nameless   148 

The  Word  149 

Assistance    151 

Credulity    152 

Consciousness    153 

The  Structure  154 

Our  Souls    155 

The  Law   156 

Knowledge    157 

Give    159 

Perfection  161 

Fear    , 162 

The  Way  163 

Understood    164 

His  Mansion   165 

Effect   166 

Three  Things  167 

Obstacles    168 

Prayer    169 

Climbing    170 

"There  Is  No  Death,  There  Are  No  Dead" 171 

Realization    .  ..173 


A  Dialogue. 


Mortal. 
HE  world  is  full  of  selfishness  and 

greed. 
Lord,  I  would  lave  its  sin. 

Spirit. 
Yea,  mortal,  earth  of  thy  good 

help  has  need. 
Go  cleanse  thyself  within. 

Mortal. 

Mine  ear  is  hurt  by  harsh  and  evil  speech. 
I  would  reform  men's  ways. 
Spirit. 

There  is  but  one  convincing  way  to  teach. 
Speak  thou  but  words  of  praise. 

Mortal. 

On  every  hand  is  wretchedness  and  grief, 
Despondency  and  fear. 
Lord,  I  would  give  my  fellow  men  relief. 


10 


141 


142  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 

Spirit. 
Be,  then,  all  hope,  all  cheer. 

Mortal. 

Lord,  I  look  outward  and  grow  sick  at  heart, 
Such  need  of  change  I  see. 

Spirit. 

Mortal,  look  in.    Do  thy  allotted  part, 
And  leave  the  rest  to  ME. 


THE   WEED  143 


The  Weed. 

WEED  is  but  an  unloved  flower! 
Go  dig,  and  prune,  and  guide, 

and  wait, 

Until  it  learns  its  high  estate, 
And  glorifies  some  bower. 
A  weed  is  but  an  unloved  flower ! 

All  sin  is  virtue  unevolved, 

Eelease  the  angel  from  the  clod — 
Go  love  thy  brother  up  to  God. 

Behold  each  problem  solved. 
All  sin  is  virtue  unevolved. 


144  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 


Strength. 


| HO  is  the  strong?    Not  he  who  puts 

to  test 
His  sinews  with  the  strong  and 

proves  the  best ; 

But  he  who  dwells  where  weak- 
lings congregate, 
And  never  lets  his  splendid  strength  abate. 

Who  is  the  good  ?    Not  he  who  walks  each  day 
With  moral  men  along  the  high,  clean  way : 
But  he  who  jostles  gilded  sin  and  shame, 
Yet  will  not  sell  his  honor  or  his  name. 

Who  is  the  wise  ?    Not  he  who  from  the  start 
With  Wisdom's  followers  has  taken  part; 
But  he  who  looks  in  Folly's  tempting  eyes, 
And  turns  away,  perceiving  her  disguise. 

Who  is  serene  I    Not  he  who  flees  his  kind, 
Some  mountain  fastness,  or  some  cave  to  find ; 
But  he  who  in  the  city's  noisiest  scene, 
Keeps  calm  within— he  only  is  serene. 


AFFIRM  145 


Affirm. 

ODY    and   mind,    and   spirit,    all 

combine 

To  make  the  Creature,  human  and 
divine. 


Of  this  great  trinity  no  part  deny. 
Affirm,  affirm,  the  Great  Eternal  I. 

Affirm  the  body,  beautiful  and  whole, 
The  earth-expression  of  immortal  soul. 

Affirm  the  mind,  the  messenger  of  the  hour, 
To  speed  between  thee  and  the  source  of 
power. 

Affirm  the  spirit,  the  Eternal  I — 
Of  this  great  trinity  no  part  deny. 


146  NEW   THOUGHT  PASTELS 


The  Chosen. 

|  HEY  stood  before  the  Angel  at  the 

gate; 
The  Angel  asked : ' '  Why  should 

you  enter  in?" 
One  said:    "On  earth  my  place 

was  high  and  great;" 
And  one:     "I  warned  my  fellow-men  from 

sin;" 

Another :    "I  was  teacher  of  the  faith ; 
I  scorned  my  life  and  lived  in  love  with  death. ' ' 

And  one  stood  silent.   ' '  Speak ! "  the  Angel  said ; 

"What  earthly  deed  has  sent  you  here  today?" 
' '  Alas !  I  did  but  follow  where  they  led, ' ' 

He  answered  sadly:  "I  had  lost  my  way— 
So  new  the  country,  and  so  strange  my  flight; 
I  only  sought  for  guidance  and  for  light. " 


THE  CHOSEN  147 

* '  You  have  no  passport  ! "   "  None, ' '  the  answer 
came. 

"I  loved  the  earth,  tho*  lowly  was  my  lot. 
I  strove  to  keep  my  record  free  from  blame, 

And  make  a  heaven  about  my  humble  spot. 
A  narrow  life ;  I  see  it  now,  too  late ; 
So,  Angel,  drive  me  from  the  heavenly  gate." 

The  Angel  swung  the  portal  wide  and  free, 
And  took  the  sorrowing  stranger  by  the  hand. 

"Nay,  you  alone,"  he  said,  "shall  come  with  me, 
Of  all  this  waiting  and  insistent  band. 

Of  what  God  gave,  you  built  your  paradise; 

Behold  your  mansion  waiting  in  the  skies," 


148 


NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 


The  Nameless. 


NNUMBEEED    gods    may    unre- 

membered  die; 
,  A  thousand   creeds   may   perish 

and  pass  by ; 
Yet  do  I  lift  mine  eyes  to  ONE 

on.  high. 


Unnamed  be  HE  from  whom  creation  came; 
There  is  no  word  whereby  to  speak  His  name 
But  petty  men  have  mouthed  it  into  shame. 

I  lift  mine  eyes,  and  with  a  river's  force 

My  love's  full  tide  goes  sweeping  on  its  course 

To  that  supreme  and  all  embracing  Source. 

Then  back  through  all  those  thirsting  channels 

roll 

The  mighty  billows  of  the  Over  Soul. 
And  I  am  He,  the  portion  and  the  Whole. 

As  little  streams  before  the  flood  tide  flee, 
As  rivers  vanish  to  become  the  sea, 
The  I  exists  no  more,  for  I  AM  HE. 


THE  WORD  149 


The  Word. 

|H,  a  word  is  a  gem,  or  a  stone,  or 

a  song, 
Or   a   flame,    or   a   two-edged 

sword ; 
Or  a  rose  in  bloom,  or  a  sweet 

perfume, 
Or  a  drop  of  gall,  is  a  word. 

You  may  choose  your  word  like  a  connoisseur, 

And  polish  it  up  with  art, 
But  the  word  that  sways,  and  stirs,  and  stays, 

Is  the  word  that  comes  from  the  heart. 

You  may  work  on  your  word  a  thousand  weeks, 

But  it  will  not  glow  like  one 
That  all  unsought,  leaps  forth  white  hot, 

When  the  fountains  of  feeling  run. 


150  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 

You  may  hammer  away  on  the  anvil  of  thought, 
And  fashion  your  word  with  care, 

But  unless  you  are  stirred  to  the  depths,  that 

word 
Shall  die  on  the  empty  air. 

For  the  word  that  comes  from  the  brain  alone, 

Alone  to  the  brain  will  speed ; 
But  the  word  that  sways,  and  stirs,  and  stays, 

Oh !  that  is  the  word  men  heed. 


ASSISTANCE  151 


Assistance. 

E  AN  on  no  mortal,  Love,  and  serve ; 
(For    service   is   love's   comple- 
ment) 

But  it  was  never  God's  intent, 
Your  spirit  from  its  path  should 
swerve, 

To  gain  another 's  point  of  view. 

As  well  might  Jupiter,  or  Mars 

Go  seeking  help  from  other  stars, 

Instead  of  sweeping  ON,  as  you. 

Look  to  the  Great  Eternal  Cause 

And  not  to  any  man,  for  light. 

Look  in ;  and  learn  the  wrong,  and  right, 

From  your  own  soul's  unwritten  laws. 

And  when  you  question,  or  demur, 

Let  Love  be  your  Interpreter. 


152  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 


"Credulity." 


F  fallacies,  come  knocking  at  my 

door, 
I'd  rather  feed,  arid  shelter  full  a 

score, 

Than  hide  behind  the  black  port- 
cullis, doubt, 
And  run  the  risk  of  barring  one  Truth  out. 

And  if  pretention  for  a  time  deceive, 
And  prove  me  one  too  ready  to  believe, 
Far  less  my  shame,  than  if  by  stubborn  act, 
I  brand  as  lie,  some  great  colossal  Fact. 

On  my  soul's  door,  the  latch-string  hangs  out- 
side; 

Within,  the  lighted  candle.    Let  me  guide 
Some  errant  follies,  on  their  wandering  way, 
Bather,  than  Wisdom  give  no  welcoming  ray. 


CONSCIOUSNESS  153 


Consciousness. 


|OD,  what  a  glory,  is  this  conscious- 
ness, 
Of  life  on  life,  that  comes  to  those 

who  seek! 
Nor  would  I,  if  I  might,  to  others 

speak, 

The  fullness  of  that  knowledge.     It  can  bless, 
Only  the  eager  souls,  that  willing,  press 
Along  the  mountain  passes,  to  the  peak. 
Not  to  the  dull,  the  doubting,  or  the  weak, 
Will  Truth  explain,  or  Mystery  confess. 

Not  to  the  curious  or  impatient  soul 
That  in  the  start,  demands  the  end  be  shown, 
And  at  each  step,  stops  waiting  for  a  sign; 
But  to  the  tireless  toiler  toward  the  goal, 
Shall  the  great  miracles  of  God  be  known 
And  life  revealed,  immortal  and  divine. 


154 


NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 


The  Structure. 

I  PON  the  wreckage  of  thy  yesterday 
Design  the  structure  of  tomorrow. 

Lay 
Strong  corner  stones  of  purpose, 

and  prepare 
Great  blocks  of  wisdom,  cut  from  past  despair. 
Shape  mighty  pillars  of  resolve,  to  set 
Deep  in  the  tear-wet  mortar  of  regret. 
Work  on  with  patience.    Though  thy  toil  be  slow, 
Yet  day  by  day  the  edifice  shall  grow. 
Believe  in  God— in  thine  own  self  believe. 
All  that  thou  hast  desired  thou  shalt  achieve. 


OUR  SOULS  155 


Our  Souls. 


TJR  souls  should  be  vessels  receiv- 
ing 

The  waters  of  love  for  relieving 
The  sorrows  of  men. 


For  here  lies  the  pleasure  of  living : 
In  taking  God's  bounties,  and  giving 
The  gifts  back  again. 


156 


NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 


The  Law. 

HEN    the    great    universe    was 

wrought 
To    might    and    majesty    from 

naught, 
The  all  creative  force  was — 

Thought. 


That  force  is  thine.  Though  desolate 
The  way  may  seem,  command  thy  fate. 
Send  forth  thy  thought— 

Create— Create! 


KNOWLEDGE  157 


Knowledge. 


|OULD   you  believe  in  Presences 

Unseen— 
In  life  beyond  this  earthly  life! 

BE  STILL: 
Be  stiller  yet ;  and  listen.    Set  the 

screen 

Of  silence  at  the  portal  of  your  will. 
Eelax,  and  let  the  world  go  by  unheard. 
And  seal  your  lips  with  some  all-sacred  word. 

Breathe  "God,"  in  any  tongue— it  means  the 

same; 
LOVE  ABSOLUTE :    Think,  feel,  absorb  the 

thought ; 
Shut  out  all  else ;  until  a  subtle  flame 

(A  spark  from  God's  creative  center  caught) 
Shall  permeate  your  being,  and  shall  glow, 
Increasing  in  its  splendor,  till,  YOU  KNOW. 

11 


158  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 

Not  in  a  moment,  or  an  hour,  or  day 

The  knowledge  comes;  the  power  is  far  too 

great, 
To  win  in  any  desultory  way. 

No  soul  is  worthy  till  it  learns  to  wait. 
Day  after  day  be  patient,  then,  oh,  soul ; 
Month  after  month— till,  lo !  the  goal !  the  goal ! 


GIVE  159 


Give. 


|IVE,  and  thou  shalt  receive.    Give 

thoughts  of  cheer, 
Of    courage    and    success,    to 

friend  and  stranger. 
And  from  a  thousand  sources,  far 

and  near, 

Strength  will  be  sent  thee  in  thy  hour  of 
danger. 

Give  words  of  comfort,  of  defense,  and  hope, 
To  mortals  crushed  by  sorrow  and  by  error. 

And  though  thy  feet  through  shadowy  paths 

may  grope, 
Thou  shalt  not  walk  in  loneliness  or  terror. 

Give  of  thy  gold,  though  small  thy  portion  be. 

Gold   rusts   and   shrivels   in  the  hand  that 

keeps  it. 
It  grows  in  one  that  opens  wide  and  free. 

Who  sows  his  harvest  is  the  one  who  reaps  it. 


160  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 

Give  of  thy  love,  nor  wait  to  know  the  worth 
Of  what  thou  lovest ;  and  ask  no  returning. 

And  wheresoever  thy  pathway  leads  on  earth, 
There  thou  shalt  find  the  lamp  of  love-light 
burning. 


PERFECTION  161 


Perfection. 


|  HE  leaf  that  ripens  Only  in  the  snn 
Is  dull  and  shriveled  ere  its  race 

is  run. 
The  leaf  that  makes  a  carnival  of 

death 

Must   tremble   first   before   the   north   wind's 
breath. 

The  life  that  neither  grief  nor  burden  knows 
Is  dwarfed  in  sympathy  before  its  close. 
The  life  that  grows  majestic  with  the  years 
Must  taste  the  bitter  tonic  found  in  tears. 


162  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 


Fear. 

EAR  is  the  twin  of  Faith's  sworn 

foe,  Distrust. 

If  one  breaks  in  your  heart  the 
other  must. 


Fear  is  the  open  enemy  of  Good. 
It  means  the  God  in  man  misunderstood. 

Who  walks  with  Fear  adown  life's  road  will 

meet 
His  boon  companions,  Failure  and  Defeat. 

But  look  the  bully  boldly  in  the  eyes, 

With  mien  undaunted,  and  he  turns  and  flies. 


THE   WAY 


163 


The  Way. 


ETWEEN  the  finite  and  the  infinite 
The  missing  link  of  Love  has  left 

a  void. 
Supply  the  link,  and  earth  with 

Heaven  will  join 
In  one  continued  chain  of  endless  life. 

Hell  is  wherever  Love  is  not,  and  Heaven 

Is  Love's  location.    No  dogmatic  creed, 

No  austere  faith  based  on  ignoble  fear 

Can  lead  thee  into  realms  of  joy  and  peace. 

Unless  the  humblest  creatures  on  the  earth 

Are  bettered  by  thy  loving  sympathy 

Think  not  to  find  a  Paradise  beyond. 

There  is  no  sudden  entrance  into  Heaven. 
Slow  is  the  ascent  by  the  path  of  Love. 


164 


NEW   THOUGHT  PASTELS 


Understood. 


yALUE  more  than  I  despise 

My  tendency  to  sin, 
Because  it  helps  me  sympathize 

With  all  my  tempted  kin. 


He  who  has  nothing  in  his  soul 
That  links  him  to  the  sod, 
Knows  not  that  joy  of  self-control 
Which  lifts  him  up  to  God. 

And  I  am  glad  my  heart  can  say, 

When  others  trip  and  fall 
(Although  I  safely  passed  that  way), 

"I  understand  it  all." 


HIS  MANSION 


165 


His  Mansion. 


HERE  was  a  thought  he  hid  from 

all  men's  eyes, 
And  by  his  prudent  life  and  deeds 

of  worth 
He   left   a   goodly   record  upon 

earth 
As  one  both  pure  and  wise. 

But  when  he  reached  a  dark  unsightly  door 
Beyond  the  grave,  there  stood  his  secret  thought. 
It  was  the  mansion  he  had  built  and  brought 
To  dwell  in,  on  that  shore. 


166  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 


Effect. 

N  unkind  tale  was  whispered  in 

his  ear. 

He  paused  to  hear. 
His    thoughts    were    food    that 

helped  a  falsehood  thrive, 
And  keep  alive. 

Years  dawned  and  died.    One  day  by  venom's 
tongue 

His  name  was  stung. 
He  cried  aloud,  nor  dreamed  the  lie  was  spawn 

Of  thoughts  long  gone. 

Each  mental  wave  we  send  out  from  the  mind, 

Or  base,  or  kind, 
.Completes  its  circuit,  then  with  added  force 

Seeks  its  own  source. 


THREE   THINGS 


167 


Three  Things. 


NOW  this,  ye  restless  denizens  of 

earth, 
Know  this,  ye  seekers  after  joy 

and  mirth, 
Three  things  there  are,  eternal  in 

their  worth. 


Love,  that  outreaches  to  the  humblest  things; 
Work  that  is  glad,  in  what  it  does  and  brings ; 
And  faith  that  soars  upon  unwearied  wings. 

Divine  the  Powers  that  on  this  trio  wait. 
Supreme  their  conquest,  over  Time  and  Fate. 
Love,  Work,  and  Faith— these  three  alone  are 
great. 


168  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 


Obstacl 


es. 


The  slothful  man  saith,  There  is  a  lion  in  the  way;  a  lion 
is  in  the  street. — Proverbs  26:  13. 

HERE  are  no  lions  in  the  street ; 

No  lions  in  the  way. 
Go  seek  the  goal,  thou  slothful 

soul, 
Awake,  awake,  I  say. 

Thou  dost  but  dream  of  obstacles ; 

In  God's  great  lexicon, 
That  word  illstarred,  no  page  has  marred ; 

Press  on,  I  say,  press  on. 

Nothing  can  keep  thee  from  thine  own 

But  thine  own  slothful  mind. 
To  one  who  knocks,  each  door  unlocks ; 

And  he  who  seeks,  shall  find. 


PRAYER  169 


Prayer. 


EAN  on  thyself  until  thy  strength 

is  tried; 

Then  ask  God's  help;  it  will  not 
be  denied. 


Use  thine  own  sight  to  see  the  way  to  go ; 
When  darkness  falls  ask  God  the  path  to  show. 

Think  for  thyself  and  reason  out  thy  plan ; 

God  has  his  work  and  thou  hast  thine,  oh,  man. 

Exert  thy  will  and  use  it  for  control ; 
God  gave  thee  jurisdiction  of  thy  soul. 

All  thine  immortal  powers  bring  into  play; 
Think,  act,  strive,  reason,  then  look  up  and  pray. 


170  NEW   THOUGHT  PASTELS 


Climbing. 


HO  climbs  the  mountain  does  not 

always  climb. 

The  winding  road  slants  down- 
ward many  a  time ; 
Yet  each  descent  is  higher  than 

the  last. 

Has  thy  path  fallen?    That  will  soon  be  past. 
Beyond  the  curve  the  way  leads  up  and  on. 
Think  not  thy  goal  forever  lost  or  gone. 
Keep  moving  forward;  if  thine  aim  is  right 
Thou  canst  not  miss  the  shining  mountain  height. 
Who  would  attain  to  summits  still  and  fair, 
Must  nerve  himself  through  valleys  of  despair. 


THERE  IS  NO  DEATH  171 


"There  Is  No  Death,  There  Are 
No  Dead." 

(Suggested  by  the  book  of  Mr.  Ed.  C.  Randall.) 

[HERE  is  no  death,  there  are  no 

dead." 
From  zone  to  zone,  from  sphere 

to  sphere, 

The  souls  of  all  who  pass  from  here 
By  hosts  of  living  thoughts  are  led  j 
And  dark  or  bright,  those  souls  must  tread 
The  paths  they  fashioned  year  on  year. 
For  hells  are  built  of  hate  or  fear, 
And  heavens  of  love  our  lives  have  shed. 

Across  unatlassed  worlds  of  space, 
And  through  God's  mighty  universe, 
With  thoughts  that  bless   or  thoughts  that 
curse, 

Each  journeys  to  his  rightful  place. 
Oh,  greater  truth  no  man  has  said, 
" There  is  no  death,  there  are  no  dead." 


172  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 

-? 
It  lifts  the  mourner  from  the  sod, 

And  bids  him  cast  away  the  reed 
Of  some  uncomforting  poor  creed, 

And  walk  with  Knowledge  for  a  rod. 

It  bids  the  doubter  seek  the  broad 
Vast  fields,  where  living  facts  will  feed 
All  those  whose  patience  proves  their  need 

Of  these  immortal  truths  of  God. 

It  brings  before  the  eyes  of  faith 

Those  realms  of  radiance,  tier  on  tier, 
Where  our  beloved  ''dead"  appear, 

More  beautiful  because  of  "death." 
It  speaks  to  grief :    "Be  comforted ; 
There  is  no  death,  there  are  no  dead." 


REALIZATION  173 


Realization. 

EES  was  a  lonely,  shadowed  lot; 
Or  so  the  unperceiving  thought, 
Who  looked  no  deeper  than  her 

face, 

Devoid  of  chiseled  lines  of  grace- 
No  farther  than  her  humble  grate, 
And  wondered  how  she  bore  her  fate. 

Yet  she  was  neither  lone  nor  sad ; 
So  much  of  love  her  spirit  had, 
She  found  an  ever-flowing  spring 
Of  happiness  in  everything. 

So  near  to  her  was  Nature's  heart 
It  seemed  a  very  living  part 
Of  her  own  self ;  and  bud  and  blade, 
And  heat  and  cold,  and  sun  and  shade, 
And  dawn  and  sunset,  Spring  and  Fall, 
Held  raptures  for  her,  one  and  all. 


174  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 

The  year's  four  changing  seasons  brought 
To  her  own  door  what  thousands  sought 
In  wandering  ways  and  did  not  find- 
Diversion  and  content  of  mind. 

She  loved  the  tasks  that  filled  each  day- 
Such  menial  duties ;  but  her  way 
Of  looking  at  them  lent  a  grace 
To  things  the  world  deemed  commonplace. 

Obscure  and  without  place  or  name, 
She  gloried  in  another's  fame. 
Poor,  plain  and  humble  in  her  dress, 
She  thrilled  when  beauty  and  success 
And  wealth  passed  by,  on  pleasure  bent ; 
They  made  earth  seem  so  opulent. 
Yet  none  of  quicker  sympathy, 
IWhen  need  or  sorrow  came,  than  she. 
And  so  she  lived,  and  so  she  died. 

She  woke  as  from  a  dream.    How  wide 

And  wonderful  the  avenue 

That  stretched  to  her  astonished  view ! 


REALIZATION  175 

And  up  the  green  ascending  lawn 
A  palace  caught  the  rays  of  dawn. 
Then  suddenly  the  silence  stirred 
With  one  clear  keynote  of  a  bird ; 
A  thousand  answered,  till  ere  long 
The  air  was  quivering  bits  of  song. 
She  rose  and  wandered  forth  in  awe, 
Amazed  and  moved  by  all  she  saw, 
For,  like  so  many  souls  who  go 
Away  from  earth,  she  did  not  know 
The  cord  was  severed. 

Down  the  street, 

With  eager  arms  stretched  forth  to  greet, 
Came  one  she  loved  and  mourned  in  youth ; 
Her  mother  followed ;  then  the  truth 
Broke  on  her,  golden  wave  on  wave, 
Of  knowledge  infinite.    The  grave, 
The  body  and  the  earthly  sphere 
Were  gone !    Immortal  life  was  here ! 
They  led  her  through  the  Palace  halls ; 


176  NEW  THOUGHT  PASTELS 

From  gleaming  mirrors  on  the  walls 

She  saw  herself,  with  radiant  mien, 

And  robed  in  splendor  like  a  queen, 

While  glory  round  about  her  shone. 

"All  this,"  Love  murmured,  "is  you  own." 

And  when  she  gazed  with  wondering  eye, 

And  questioned  whence  and  where  and  why, 

Love  answered  thus:    "All  Heaven  is  made 

By  thoughts  on  earth;  your  walls  were  laid, 

Year  after  year,  of  purest  gold ; 

The  beauty  of  your  mind  behold 

In  this  fair  palace ;  aye,  and  more 

Waits  farther  on,  so  vast  your  store. 

I  was  not  worthy  when  I  died 

To  take  my  place  here  at  your  side ; 

I  toiled  through  long  and  weary  years 

From  lower  planes  to  these  high  spheres ; 

And  through  the  love  you  sent  from  earth 

I  have  attained  a  second  birth. 

Oft  when  my  erring  soul  would  tire 

I  felt  the  strength  of  your  desire ; 

I  heard  you  breathe  my  name  in  prayer, 

And  courage  conquered  weak  despair. 

Ah!  earth  needs  heaven,  but  heaven  indeed 

Of  earth  has  just  as  great  a  need." 


REALIZATION  177 

Across  the  terrace  with  a  bound 

There  sped  a  lambkin  and  a  hound 

(Dumb  comrades  of  the  old  earth  land) 

And  fondled  her  caressing  hand. 

"YOU  LOVED  THEM  INTO  PARADISE," 

Was  answered  to  her  questioning  eyes ; 

'  *  You  taught  them  love ;  love  has  no  end ! 

Nor  does  love's  life  on  form  depend. 

If  there  be  mortal  without  love, 

He  wakes  to  no  new  life  above. 

If  love  in  humbler  things  exist, 

It  must  through  other  realms  persist 

Until  all  love  rays  merge  in  HIM. 

Hark !    Hear  the  heavenly  Cherubim ! ' ' 

Then  hushed  and  awed,  with  joy  so  vast 

It  knew  no  future  and  no  past, 

She  stood  amidst  the  radiant  throng 

That  came  to  swell  love's  welcoming  song— 

This  humble  soul  from  earth's  far  coast 

The  center  of  the  heavenly  host. 

On  earth  they  see  her  grave  and  say : 
"She  lies  there  till  the  judgment  day;" 
Nor  dream,  so  limited  their  thought, 
What  miracles  by  love  are  wrought. 


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